


Harry Potter; Thundersong

by Blackenergy666



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'Rune' Magic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient Runes - Freeform, Animagus, BAMF Albus Dumbledore, BAMF Harry Potter, Badass Albus Dumbledore, Badass Harry Potter, Basilisk Sheddings are used, Beta Read, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Elder Furthark, Elemental Magic, F/M, Hogwarts starts at 12 instead of 11, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Mentions of Death, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, Norse Magic, Other, Parsel Magic, Parseltongue, Powerful Albus Dumbledore, Powerful Harry Potter, Rune Magic, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), Sword of Gryffindor, animagi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackenergy666/pseuds/Blackenergy666
Summary: Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways, even by the standards of Magicals and not just because he had a knack for being Voldemort bait. No, Perhaps his most unusual feature is the lord of storms that resides within him.
Relationships: to be added
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

He could hear his heartbeat in his chest. He could feel the venom of the Basilisk before him. He did not know how he had survived for so long, or how he had his wand in his left hand. Nor did he know how the Sword seemed to grow lighter as he grew more tired. What he did know was that some force had taken hold of him, that he could fight with spells he had not learned, with skills he had never practiced, and with a strength he had never known.

But even with all this, he was losing. He could feel it now, more than ever, the venom coursing through his body. He could feel it slowly killing him. Harry was no stranger to pain, with the accidents of his home life and his Quidditch career seeing to such but this; this was more than he had ever felt in his short life.

It burned and froze, it shocked and pressured, it stabbed and slashed. He was reminded of a time three years ago when he had been thrown out of the house during a storm. Ripper, his vile Aunt Marge's dog, had attacked him. At the time, he was so small that the Bulldog had almost killed him. He had been 10 then.

As he lay dying in a pool of his own blood, his attention was called to the sky; where thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Then, in a display of blueish-white brilliance, he was struck by nature’s fury. To this day, he maintains that he heard the cry of a bird in the winds and felt its talons in the lightning.

When he awoke hours later, he put the incident out of his mind and made his way back to the Dursley’s, unknowing of the changes within him. He was brought back to the present as he heard the Lord of Serpents preparing for a lunge. His breath evened out, becoming long, deep and controlled. The world sharpened, and in the next instant, both fighters moved.

Words flowed automatically from his lips, even though he had never heard them before. " _The Storm and I are One, and the Thunder is my Soul._ " It was a call, and the storm high above answered the thunder within his heart. He reached out to it, and lightning answered his call. " _The Lightning is my Flesh, the Frost is my Bone._ " The words continued, and his eyes burned bluish-white with incandescent power, his hair standing on end and shining a deep blue. The Basilisk roared and lunged at him. " _The Rain, my Blood._ " Time slowed as Harry, with a grace he’d never shown, sidestepped it and plunged the sword into the beast’s brain. " _Hear my name; Thundersong._ "

The beast fell to the floor dead, as a triumphant avian shriek filled Harry’s mind. He turned his head at the sound of clapping.

“Perhaps there is might in you, after all, Harry Potter. I’m impressed.” the shade of Thomas Riddle, Lord Voldemort said, malicious sincerity lacing his voice. “Yes, you will certainly be a worthy opponent. Which is why you must die now.” raising Ginny’s wand he spat a word, not of the bastardized Latin Harry used, but something else. Something unnatural. Something _wrong_. The word made reality ripple and warp as a lance of black shot towards him.

Harry merely raised his left arm, the lightning on it shielding him from the spear. Magic swirled around both young men. Thomas’s face morphing into a truly vile smirk as he spoke “Really Harry? An intimidation tactic? You do remember sweet Ginerva is on a timer right?” he taunted, wand raised. “ **Látigo Estrella** ”¹ he murmured, calling the thermal and light energy to the tip of his wand before whipping it towards Harry.

“ **Dynja Mala** ”² Harry intoned, a loud clap of thunder rolling out from his wand, shattering the whip of light and heat as it passed. The young Voldemort’s maniacal laughter filled the chamber as they began to trade spells, curses, jinxes and even just bolts of raw magical force. The young men, not really more than boys, battled at an increasingly furious pace, outstripping all but the most elite magical duellists. Fire and lightning danced through the room, the Dark Lord showing his skill by safely grounding Harry’s lightning.

Violently slashing his wand, Harry unleashed an arc of lightning that cut through the young Voldemort’s flame spell. A circle of runes appeared in front of Harry as he thrust his sword through it, a lance of blueish-white power shooting out. The shade laughed as he conjured a wall of granite to absorb the blast before banishing the debris at Harry.

Stabbing the sword into the ground, with his wand pointed towards the debris, Harry unleashed an _Avifors_ spell, shielding him from the incoming missiles. In quick succession, Harry threw a smokescreen up, followed by two severing charms, a knockback charm, a Tongue-Tying Curse, and a Disarming charm. He growled lowly as the Shade easily countered each one of those spells. As he rolled away from another of Thomas’s curses, his eyes were drawn to Ginny.

Sensing her dwindling life-force, Harry decided to act quickly. The magic that swirled around them, both his own and his adversaries, grew into a storm. This storm of magic grew more and more ferocious under Harry’s will. Harry crossed his wand and sword, aiming it at the shade of Voldemort. Finally, he incanted, his voice sounding like a fusion of man and boy “ **Sigra** ”³.

The storm of magic was absorbed by Harry and directed through his weapons as a blinding flash of lightning. The shade realized too late that he could not ground this spell as he had done so before and thus, could not react as his essence was obliterated, with a scream of pain and rage leaving his lips as it happened. Harry stood victorious, panting heavily and feeling the cool air of the chamber.

Harry felt the presence of ‘Thundersong’ recede and with it, the power he had used. For the moment he was content, knowing he could call it again should he need it. Then Harry sensed it, Ginny’s life-force was still dwindling. Racing over to Ginny, Harry panicked “What do I do? What do I do?” he muttered.

Fawkes chose then to coo a soft note, his song helping to calm Harry. Then, in a manner that he somehow understood, Fawkes cooed again. “I can’t make a storm of life-force… can I?” Fawkes cawed in triumph before taking to the air and circling Harry and Ginny, embers falling off of the Pheonix like golded snow. Harry inhaled deeply, eyes closing as he focused. His eyes snapped open, the incandescent blueish-white light shining out of them.

The soft, snow-like fall of Fawkes’ embers spun into a powerful tornado of golden flames. Placing his hands over the dying girl he ordered “ **Ginerva Weasley, harken to me. Your time is not yet done.** ” The flames then flowed down his arms like water and enveloped Ginny’s body. The life-force Voldemort had stolen was restored, and with a gasping breath she sat up.

“Wha-- Wher-- HARRY! Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry. I-- he--” Ginny rambled, before taking in Harry’s form. His torn and sweat-soaked clothes, his tired eyes, and his general weariness. A mild blush on her face at seeing some of the tight Quidditch muscles starting to form on his body. She quickly snapped out of any fantasy as she focuses on what she could remember.

“Ginny. It’s all right. I know you’re not to blame for this.” Harry spoke before she could, the adrenaline leaving him now and replaced with a deep desire to get out of the chamber and go to the hospital wing for some much-needed rest. He had just stood up when he heard Ron’s voice echoing down the pathway.

“HARRY, GINNY! YOU TWO ALRIGHT?!” the echoed voice asked them.

“YEAH, WE’RE FINE!” Harry responded, pitching his voice to carry.

“OH THANK MERLIN!” hearing the relief in his friend’s voice, Harry struggled to his feet and hauled Ginny to hers. With heavy steps and sluggish movements, the pair dragged himself to the entrance of the chamber where they met Ron and the amnesiac Lockhart, who began to ask inane questions.

“ _ᛊᛚᛖᛖᛈ_ ”⁴ Harry grunted, tapping his wand against the fraud, said man falling into a deep sleep as Harry’s magic shunted Lockhart’s mind south. Lifting the man onto his shoulder, Harry, as guided by Fawkes, began the trek back to the entrance in the second-floor bathroom. The trek was mostly quiet, save for the sound of their footfalls and breathing. It seemed universal that they stayed silent.

Arriving at the slide, Harry paused before hissing “* _Stairs*_ ” and watching in dull surprise as the slide morphed into a set of stairs. Renewing the spell on Lockhart, they began the climb back up, All of them breathing out a sigh of relief when they were out. Fawkes sang a soft note as he leaped off Harry’s shoulder and began to guide them, with a gentle golden light to help show them the way.

Soon they arrived outside of McGonagall’s office, before Ron knocked on the door and waited. For a moment there was silence as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck, slime, sweat, and in Harry’s case, blood. Then there was a scream.

“Ginny!”

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leaped to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry’s ear and settled on Dumbledore’s shoulder, just as Harry found himself and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasley’s tight embrace.

“You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?” Molly Weasley cried as she hugged her daughter’s savior to her chest.

“I think we’d all like to know that,” Professor McGonagall softly informed, likely still reeling from finding the sight before her.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle’s diary.

With a deep breath, he began to regale them with everything; from the voice in the walls to Hermione figuring out what it was, to the nest of Acromantula in the forbidden forest which McGonagall did not look happy about, to the connection to Moaning Myrtle and how her bathroom fit into the whole thing. For fifteen minutes he spoke, his voice becoming hoarse as he did so.

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, “so you found out where the entrance was, breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, might I add, but hoo oan earth did ye aw gie it ay thaur alife, Potter?”⁵

Taken aback by the accent for a moment, Harry quickly sipped some water Dumbledore had provided and began to talk; of Fawkes’s timely arrival, of gaining the sword, of Fawkes blinding the beast, of being bitten. He hesitated, before talking of the lightning he called, of the song of thunder in his mind, of slaying the beast with a sword through its head.

He paused again, Dumbledore giving him an amused look as he tried to hide it via taking a sip of water, and considered. ‘ _Should I bring up Ginny and Riddle’s diary?_ ’ he subtly looked to the girl. She was distraught, tears fell freely from her eyes as she leaned into her mother’s embrace. He bit back a curse, the diary was all but destroyed when Harry used **Sigra** ³ on Riddle. His eyes turned to Dumbledore, looking for help.

With a gentle voice, the aged wizard spoke “What interests me most, is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant young Ginerva when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

Harry sagged in relief, his stamina starting to wane as the events of this night caught up to him. A bone-deep weariness settled on him as tried to find the words to explain what had happened. He was thankfully saved from this burden by Mr. Weasley.

“W-what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not… Ginny hasn’t been… has she?” the woman stuttered, holding her daughter just a bit tighter.

“It was this,” said Harry quickly, picking the diary up and showing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen, he did something to it. Something… _Wrong_.” Harry said, unable to truly articulate what the diary had felt like.

Striding over, Dumbledore took the book from Harry’s hands before closely examining its destroyed pages. Harry could see Dumbledore’s eyes glow softly as he took in the scorched and soggy book.

“Brilliant,” he said softly. “Of course, he was probably the brightest student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered. With a deep sigh, suddenly looking much older, he spoke, telling a tale that would haunt the room’s occupants for the next several years.

Much like Harry just a few minutes before, the aged wizard spoke of the past, of a boy whom he had taught 50 years ago, who had sunken in the Dark Arts, who had undergone ritual after ritual to become something more than a wizard, and who had become a nightmarish lord of evil. By the time his tale, Dumbledore seemed to have aged a few years, looking more tired than Harry.

“But, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley. “What’s our Ginny got to do wi-with h-hi-im?”

“His d-diary” Ginny sobbed, her body trembling with fear. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year-”

“Ginny!” said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain? Why didn’t you show the diary to me or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!” he tearfully scolded.

“I d-didn’t know,” wailed Ginny. “I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it-”

“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment as far older and wiser beings than her, have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.” Fawkes gliding over to rest on Ron’s shoulder and began to sing softly, with everyone calming down.

He strode over to the door and opened it. “Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate, yes, I think that will do quite nicely.” he added, twinkling kindly down at her. “Yes, I think that will work for now. However, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, we will be discussing Young Ginerva’s mental wellbeing tomorrow.”

Dumble paused for a moment and added “You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice and I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“Hermione!” Both boys exclaimed happily, sagging in relief, and with that relief, Harry finally lost the strength to stand.

He fell into a chair that had not been there previously and audibly groaned in satisfaction, the tension of the ordeal finally leaving him. The world began to fade out of existence, vaguely catching McGonagall leaving, only to return a little later with food and several steaming cups of what smelled like hot chocolate. He and Ron began to drift off after they had finished their meals, Dumbledore chuckling softly at the sight.

As Harry slept, he dreamt of Storms and Thunder. Of soaring the skies on wings of lightning. He dreamt of a time when his hunger made the heavens shake, of when his rage ravished forests, of when he was _free_. Lightning danced in his veins that night as thunder rolled in his soul, for the first time in 12 years, Harry slept peacefully.

* * *

Harry awoke in his bed in the tower. Feeling much stronger than last night, Harry began to go about getting ready for the day. He had just finished putting his robes on when Fawkes appeared in a swirl of fire. He sang softly as he flew to Harry’s shoulder and Harry understood the message, so he began the trek to the headmaster’s office.

When he arrived, Fawkes surprised him by trilling a note. His surprise grew as the gargoyle leaped to one side. Traversing the stairs, he entered the office as Fawkes glided over to his perch. “Ah, Harry. Thank you for coming.” Dumbledore spoke kindly.

“Sit down, Harry,” he said, and Harry promptly sat, feeling unaccountably nervous. “First of all, Harry, I would like to inform you; that both you and young Ronald will not be punished for your actions last night, I do not believe in punishing heroism after all.” he began, chuckling slightly when Harry visibly sagged in relief.

“Secondly, I would like to thank you, for you must have shown true loyalty to me to have called Fawkes.” He brushed his finger underneath Fawkes’s head like Harry often did with Hedwig. However, a deep sigh left him as he turned somber.

“And so you met Tom Riddle,” said Dumbledore thoughtfully. “I imagine he was most interested in you…” 

“Professor. Riddle said something in the chamber. About how we were alike. But we’re not alike… right?” Harry spoke, worried about those words. Because the more he thought about them, the more he realized just how similar they were. And that thought scared him immensely.

“Did he, now?” said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. “And what do you think, Harry?”

“I… I think that… maybe we have similarities,” he spoke, choosing his words very carefully. At Dumbledore’s look, he continued. “I think… we both have powers others don’t, that we both have rare wands, that we both know spells lost to time. But… I think that’s all we have in common.” his voice gained confidence as he spoke. Dumbledore nodding approvingly.

“Indeed, young Harry. Yes, you share traits with Riddle and even Old Slytherin himself; Parseltongue, resourcefulness, determination and a certain disregard for rules,” Harry had the grace to look embarrassed at Dumbledore’s sly look towards him “Yet in the end, those are not what matters; it is our choices that truly matter.”

“Just as Thomas Riddle chose to unleash the Basilisk on the school, so to did you choose to stop it. At great personal risk at that,” he spoke kindly, Harry slumping in relief again. “Of course, if you still need convincing of how you and Thomas are different, merely look at the sword.” Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the inscription on the blade _Godric Gryffindor_. “Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry,” came the words of Dumbeldore.

He allowed Harry a moment to process this revelation, before speaking again. “However, there is much we need to discuss my young student,” he added, his tone becoming firm. 

“Last year, you asked me why Lord Voldemort, Thomas Riddle targeted you. My answer has not changed since then. Yet, your actions last night have proven that you are not a boy any longer.” the aged wizard began, Harry listening carefully, “As such, I believe it is time for you to learn of why you possess the tongue of serpents.” Harry sat up straighter at that.

“You can speak Parseltongue, the language of serpents, Harry,” Dumbledore calmly informed him, “because Lord Voldemort, who is the last remaining descendent of Salazar Slytherin, can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not an intentional act, merely a side effect of the loss of his body”

Seeing Harry’s defeated look he added “Just as Thomas Riddle once did, you can decide how to use your power. For Parseltongue is just that, an ability. It is _you_ who decides where not to use it for good or ill.” He nodded privately as he saw Harry thinking about his words.

“Now, on much lighter topics; should you wish it, I will begin to instruct you in dueling and channeling” he stated. Harry looking excited at such a gracious offer. However, before he could verbally accept the offer, the door to Dumbledore’s office violently burst open as Lucius Malfoy stormed in.

Harry narrowed his eyes as he saw Dobby with the man. His robes glowing ever so slightly as runes of Norse origin spread across them. He felt the weight of Gryffindor’s sword settle in his right hand as his wand appeared in his left. About to take a step forward, he saw Dumbledore wave him off.

“Good evening, Lucius,” Dumbledore greeted pleasantly.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy’s shoes. Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore. “So!” he said “You’ve come back. The governor has suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“You see my friend, the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too…” he spoke serenely, a gentle smile on his lips. His eyes, however, told another story.

“Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.” His tone was that of someone talking about the weather, yet Harry gulped an ominous weight settling on him. He could feel ‘Thundersong’ getting antsy, as he saw Lucius paled, though his eyes were still narrowed in unrestrained fury.

“Mister Potter,” Dumbledore began professionally, Harry snapping to attention in an instant. He was confused at first about the sudden name change but quickly caught onto the fact that Dumbledore was pre-emptively avoiding a hit from Malfoy. “Breakfast is ongoing, I believe you should head down now. You are free to go,” he spoke, gesturing to the door as he did so.

“Thank you, headmaster,” Harry spoke softly before he left, closing the door over as he did so. As he left he felt the pressure from the room increase and sighed in relief. “Glad I’m not in there.” he muttered as he sped up, he was pretty hungry after all.

* * *

After having his reunion in the great hall, Hermione was still hugging him as he began the school day. No exams meant that he was free to find an unused classroom and practice his new spells. Hermione had muttered about both him and Ron being meatheads for only wanting to practice the spells that blew things up.

“ **Sigra** ” Harry spoke, pointing his wand at an old, unused chair. The tip of his wand sparked for a moment before a blinding flash of light followed by a roar of thunder erupted from his wand. When everyone had gotten their bearings again, they could see the chair was thoroughly destroyed. Heroine’s eyes widened as she leaped to her feet.

“I KNOW THAT WORD!” she cried before turning and bolting out of the room. “GOINGTOTHELIBRARYBACKINAMOMENT!!” she screamed as she left. Harry and Ron looked at each other and shrugged.

“Think you can teach me that, mate?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Ron had just gotten the pronunciation down when Hermione had burst into the room. His focus shifted and with it, the brunette became the target of the fireball that launched from Ron’s borrowed wand. It was only Harry’s sharp reflexes, casting a “ **Heillsjá** ”6 spell that saved her. Even then the spell shattered his shield like glass, though it meant Hermione was dazed and slightly warmer than comfortable.

“Are you all right, ‘Mione?” Harry asked as he quickly came to her side. She blushed as he got closer, unintentionally invading her space as he looked her over with concern. 

“Y-yeah.” She stuttered before switching gears and going into ‘Bossy Bookworm’ mode and begging to speak. “Harry, the spell you used to beat Vol- You-Know-Who. It was ᚢᚨᚾᚲᚢᛁᛊᚺ, right?” at his nod she spoke, “I thought so, ᚢᚨᚾᚲᚢᛁᛊᚺ is the Elder Furthark word for Vanquish.” As both boys looked confused, she asked one very important question “Harry, how do you know Old Norse words?”

* * *

It was Neville who had brought it up; That he could potentially sell the Basilisk and its sheddings for some more money. The idea appealed to both Ron and Harry. So here he was, on his way back to the Chamber, with Ron and Neville, when he heard of Harry’s plan insisted he come along, following behind him.

“AHH!” Neville shrieked as soon as he spotted the shed skin of the basilisk.

“You aite there, mate?” Ron asked as he caught Neville, who had leaped back at the sight of the behemoth. 

“Ye-Yeah. I-I just was-sn’t re-ady for i-it.” the still spooked but calming Neville said.

“Good, because this is our first prize,” Harry spoke up, drawing attention to him as he walked to the shedding. His eyes shone with blue-white power as he intoned “ **Kveða** ”7. Lightning arced off of his wand and surrounded the shedding, the faded white gaining a luminescent green before it faded to a much dark color.

After a few checks, aka Harry blasting it with his new spell knowledge, they had learned that while still very potent, it was not as strong as normal Basilisk skin. At least according to Neville, it wasn’t. Still, the boys moved on, after getting Dobby to take the shedding to Ron’s home, to find more sheddings. They found three more before they had to go back due to Harry getting tired.

* * *

Still, with three restored sheddings, Ron promised to write Bill and ask him if they could be put in contact with someone who can sell the sheddings while also making a sheath for Harry’s sword. Ron was excited to have real money for once, Harry was happy to have money he’d earned, and Neville denied a check saying that he didn’t want or need it.

Still, the rest of the term happened. Harry and Ron both doing much better than before, with the stuff with Ginny showing them that this was not a game and that people would die if they were not careful. Without even realizing it, both boys began to make the transition to manhood.

Harry’s private lessons with Dumbledore added an interesting dynamic to the finals days of term. For with the aged wizard, Harry did not learn how to use new spells. No, he instead learned how to have greater control over his spell’s output as well as how to use the spells he already knew in a much more fluent fashion. Of course, he passed these lessons onto Ron and Hermione as well, further reinforcing them.

Still, soon the term ended and it was time to depart. Harry was not looking forward to the next two months with the Dursley’s, but he would do his best to endure them. After bidding his friends goodbye and loading into his Uncle's car, he began to trip ‘home’. Thundersong getting more and more agitated as they got near his prison for the next two months.

The door had just been closed when Harry felt it, a rush of wind. With his newfound swiftness, he spun and caught his Uncle’s hand. Stepping in, his own fist flew and Vernon’s blood splattered upon the walls.

* * *

**The Chapter Grimoire;**

**Látigo Estrella** /Star Whip; a spell that builds a construct of heat and light. 1

 **Dynja Mala** /Thunder Grind; a Defensive spell used to disrupt more physical constructs. 2

 **Sigra** /Vanquish; a powerful bolt of energy directed at someone in elemental form. The form varies from person to person. 3

 **Fara** /Sleep; a spell that forcefully puts people to sleep. Effects can wear off after a few minutes or an hour depending on the target. 4

 **Heillsjá** /Safeguard; a shield spell that absorbs and disperse magic. It shatters on contact with most spells so it’s to be avoided. 5

 **Kveða** /Restore; a spell that can repair biological items. Though these items are weaker than the fresh version. 6


	2. Chapter 2

The Dursley house was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Harry’s narrowed eyes dared Vernon to try and strike him again. Then, Dudley moved in to strike Harry next. Both boys had tussled before, but this time Harry swayed away from Dudley’s surprisingly decent hook and merely threw the boy away. Vernon stood still, towering over Harry with eyes alight with rage. The tension in the room almost suffocated Petunia.

“Want to do that again, Uncle?” Harry spoke softly, his voice conveying nothing but danger to those who wished to him harm. The air was tense, and all was still for a moment. Then Vernon exhaled sharply, grumbled an apology for lashing out, and left. Dudley also followed suit while glaring at Harry. Taking his trunk upstairs, Harry decided that he wouldn’t needlessly antagonize them if they didn’t come for him.

Still, he felt the need to be active and to burn off some of the tension from before, so he left the house to go for a run. He started running as far as he could and by the time he was done, he was drenched in sweat and dirt,feeling better than ever. He could now hear Thundersong clearly and he felt the mighty bird's joy at having been allowed to ‘fly’. “Don’t worry,” he murmured “we  _ will _ find a way to soar the skies,” he promised, feeling his inner spirit's deepest desires.

His good mood, however, came crashing down when he learned that Marge the Barge was going to be visiting. Apparently, she and Vernon had finally patched things up after  _ the incident _ , as Petunia called it. For the first week and a half, everything was fine. He and Vernon stayed out of each other’s way, he wasn’t forced to cook meals for them, and thanks to saying something about an allowance of sorts to them, he was able to buy and cook his own food.

He’d even managed a signature on his Hogsmead permission slip from Petunia, though he’d have to pull double duty with her garden to make it happen. An unexpected upside to the one and half weeks was a shared pain, with Dudley of all people. Then again, if he was ever called something like “neffy poo,” he’d be awkward about the caller as well.

Another bonus was a pleasant phone call with Ron, after he managed to get him to lower his volume, and Hermione. Both had told him that they had sent him presents via owl for his birthday. When they had arrived, Harry hid them under a loose floorboard in his room. He didn’t want to chance Dudley stealing it.

Of course, that all changed when Marge arrived. Harry tried his best to not be in the house with her; finding excuses to go to the nearby shops for food runs, going for longer runs, working out in the woods, hell he even joined up with Dudley’s little fight ring to stay out of her way. He managed it too, four days of successfully dodging her until she finally managed to corner him. He growled lowly but acquiesced to her demands he makes the _ family _ dinner.

Dinner was done and served, Marge treating him like a servant, oblivious to the calls of Thundersong within the boy. Still, Harry bore it with grace and dignity. At least until she began to talk.

“Who’s looking after the other dogs, Marge?” Vernon asked.

“Oh, I’ve got Colonel Fubster managing them,” boomed Marge. “He’s retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn’t leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he’s away from me.”

Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directed Marge’s attention back to Harry.

“So!” she barked. “Still here, are you?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Don’t you say ‘yes’ in that ungrateful tone,” Marge growled, “It’s damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn’t have done it myself. You’d have gone straight to an orphanage if you’d been dumped on my doorstep.”

Harry held his tongue, bitting back several retorts about where he’d rather live as he wanted to keep the peace in the house. As he controlled his breathing, his mind wandered to going back to Hogwarts, to using his power. The thought brought a smirk to his face. A smirk that Marge noticed.

“Don’t you smirk at me!” boomed Marge. “I can see you haven’t improved since I last saw you. I hoped the school would knock some manners into you.” She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, “Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?”

“St. Brutus’s,” said Vernon promptly. “It’s a first-rate institution for hopeless cases.”

“I see,” said Marge. “Do they use the cane at St. Brutus’, boy?” she barked across the table.

“Er--”

Vernon nodded curtly behind Marge’s back.

“Yes,” said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well play along, he added, “All the time.”

“Excellent,” said Marge. “I won’t have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what’s needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?” Harry’s hand clenched into a fist at this, Thundersong urged him to strike her, to see how she’d mouth off after taking one of his blows.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry spoke, somehow managing to keep the anger from his voice, “loads of times.” Marge narrowed her eyes.

“I still don’t like your tone, boy,” she said. “If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren’t hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I’d write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy’s case.”

Perhaps Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly. 

“Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?” Harry zoned out, not caring to listen to this conversation.

As Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself wondering about life at number four without her. Vernon and Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement.

She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn’t got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.

Harry tuned back into the conversation at Marge’s “You mustn’t blame yourself for the way the boy’s turned out, Vernon,” A deep breath, a clenched fist. “If there’s something rotten on the inside, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” his jaw tightened as he fought to keep a clear head, Thundersong demanding that he strike her, that he shut. Her. Up.

“It’s one of the basic rules of breeding,” she said, reaching for one of the wine glasses. “You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup--”

Harry’s tight control over his magic slipped for a moment, and thankfully it only exploded the glass in her hand and not something infinitely harder, or worse impossible, to replace. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Marge sputtered and blinked, her face dripping with the contents of the glass.

“Marge!” squealed Petunia. “Marge, are you all right?”

“Not to worry,” grunted Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. “Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster’s the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip…”

Harry, keeping his voice level, politely excused himself from the table, and rose to leave. He leaned against the wall in the hallway as he practiced the breathing exercises he’d seen done by McGonigal do when she was utterly enraged by someone, after a minute he was able to get control over both his own anger and the anger of Thundersong. 

“It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I’m saying nothing against your family, Petunia,” Harry froze at Marge’s voice. He was drawn into the room and felt his blood  _ boil _ at the look she gave him.

“This Potter,” said Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, “you never told me what he did?”

Vernon and Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

“He-he didn’t work,” Vernon sputtered, with half a glance at Harry. “Unemployed.”

“As I expected!” said Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. “A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who —”

“He was not,” Harry whispered, yet carried across the table like a roar of thunder. The table went very quiet. Harry trembled, hands clasped tightly into fists. He had never felt so angry in his life.

“MORE BRANDY!” yelled Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Marge’s glass. “You, boy,” he snarled at Harry. “Go to bed, go on —”

“No, Vernon,” hiccupped Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect)--”

“They didn’t die in a car crash!” Harry roared.

“They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!” screamed Marge, swelling with fury. “You are an insolent, ungrateful little--” a yelp cut her off. Her yelp.

Harry panted, drawing in shuddering breaths as he pinned Marge to the wall. His left hand lifting her off the ground and crushing her throat. His right was raised in a tight, trembling fist. A visible current danced along his body as his eyes shone with an inner light, casting his face in shadows. His hair whipped around in a supernatural wind as he tried to reel in his temper.

She tried to pry his grip open, gasping and gurgling as her throat was steadily constricted more and more, but she may as well lifted an oil tanker for the good it did her. Tears stained her cheeks as she tried desperately to break his grip. Ripper, who would normally defend his master, merely whimpered in his chair as he felt the rage of both Harry and the powerful predator that dwelled within him. “Never. Speak. To. Me. Again” Harry’s monotone voice commanded, Marge’s mind carving the command into its core.

At the look of fear in her eyes, he took a trembling breath and managed to release her throat, allowing her to slide to the ground, pale-faced with eyes wide and fearful of Harry who merely stalked out of the room. He would be leaving tonight. He had too, lest he unleashes The Storm on all of Surrey. With a vague gesture at the cupboard under the stairs, he opened it, something he wouldn’t think about for quite some time as he marched up the stairs to get his presents from the Weasley’s.

He’d just made his way downstairs and to the front door when he heard his Uncle’s reckless approach and the almost incoherent roar of rage. He merely called his wand to his hand, causing it to fade into existence in his grip. “You’ve done it now, boy. You’ll be expelled for sure!” he took a menacing step forward, trying to intimidate Harry. 

Harry’s eyes flashed as lightning flowed freely down his arm as he pointed his weapon at the larger male, aiming right between his eyes, freezing him in his tracks. His wand’s tip glowing with energy and emitting sparks. With his left hand, he gestured behind him, the door nosily unlocking and opening ever so slightly. Vernon taking a step back in fear of Harry.

“I’m going,” Harry intoned. “I’ve had enough. Anywhere will be better than here.” And in the next moment, he swept out into the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig’s cage under his arm. By the time Vernon had reached the door, Harry had already disappeared down the street.

* * *

Harry was several streets away before he collapsed onto a low wall in Magnolia Crescent. For a few moments, he struggled with the raw fury in his veins, each beat of his heart sounding like thunder in his ears as his body shook from containing the rage. Once more he began to use McGonigal’s breathing exercises. Soon enough, his vision cleared of the red haze, and he began to think clearly again.

Then the events of the past hour or so caught up to him. And suddenly, he was cold despite the relative warmth of the Autumn evening. He’d done magic, in front of someone not in the know. A shiver crawled up his spine as his mind swiftly began to fill with thoughts of what would happen to him; Would he be arrested, or would he simply be outlawed from the wizarding world?

Managing to get enough control over his thoughts, Harry took stock of the situation; Ron and Hermione would help him in a heartbeat, but they were both aboard and Hedwig was hunting. He had no muggle money and therefore was unable to book himself into a hotel or motel. He did have some wizard money but that was useless to him “Unless...” he spoke aloud.

Thundersong warned him of something nearby. In an instant, his posture shifted and the air filled with magic. Harry felt his right-hand twitch, almost as if it wanted to hold something much heavier than a wand. “ _ Lumos _ ” he murmured, closing his eyes to avoid being dazzled by the light. He relaxed when he saw that it was just a dog, albeit a magical one given Thundersong’s reaction. “Guess both of us are having a rough night.” he muttered as he sat down heavily.

Just as he released his spell, he heard a thundering bang. He turned towards it to be dazed a bright light. When he began to regain his vision he saw a gigantic pair of wheels that belonged, as Harry saw as his vision further cleared, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled  _ The Knight Bus _ . “Did Aunt Petunia slip me something?” he wondered aloud as he took in sight before him.

Then a conductor in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and began to speak loudly to the night.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard! Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go! My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening Mr...”

“Evanson, James Evanson.” Harry spoke as he rose, forgetting about the dog as he and Stan moved his items onto the bus. As he did so, a line from Stan’s introduction stood out. “Did you say it goes anywhere?”

“Yep!” said Stan proudly, “Anywhere you like, ’long it’s on land. Can’t do nuffink underwater.”

“Awesome, how much would it be to get to London?” Harry questioned.

“Eleven Sickles,” said Stan, “but for firteen, you get ’ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an ’otwater bottle an’ a toofbrush in the color of your choice.”

“Cool, 2 shakes.” Harry spoke as he held his hand up in the universal gesture of ‘give me a minute’ and rummaged around his trunk. Extracting his money bag with a triumphant sound, he swiftly extracted a single Galleon.

“To the Leaky Cauldron, 1 Hot Chocolate, and you can keep the change,” He said, handing said Galleon over to Stan. With the transaction over, Harry looked over the bus. There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered, “Not now, thanks, I’m pickling some slugs” and rolled over in his sleep.

“You ’ave this one,” Stan whispered, shoving Harry’s trunk under the bed right behind the driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel. “This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is James Evanson, Ern.”

Ernie Prang, an elderly wizard wearing very thick glasses, nodded to Harry, who returned the gesture before sitting down on the bed. It was then Harry noticed a shrunken head. “Take’er away, Ern,” said Stan, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie’s.

“Yeah tek it away Ernie! Fasten yuh safety belts clench yuh buttocks! It guh be a bumpy ride!” it spoke in a Jamaican accent. What happened next caused would stay with Harry for a long time. For he was tossed around his area the bus, repeatedly slammed against the window and his bed. When the bus stopped to let an older woman out, Harry finally caught sight of the Daily Prophet Stan was reading. 

It held a large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at Harry from the front page. He looked strangely familiar.

“That man!” Harry said, forgetting his troubles for a moment. “He was on the Muggle news!” Stanley turned to the front page and chuckled.

“Sirius Black,” he said, nodding. “’ Course ’e was on the Muggle news, James. Where you been?” Stan’s chuckle died in his throat when Harry glared at him. “You oughta read the papers more, James,” Stan said as he handed Harry the front page of the paper.

The more he read about this ‘Sirius Black’ the more horrified he became. His horror grew when Stan started to speak, telling about how Black murdered thirteen muggles in one curse, how he supported Voldemort, how he had, apparently, played the long con with ‘Harry Potter’s parents’. Then came the talk of Azkaban, the Wizarding Prison, and Harry was chilled to his core.

Now, a calm Harry might have been able to rationalize that all he did was show off Magical Strength and some sparks, one could be explained away with adrenaline and the other a trick or two of the light. However, a Harry that had just had this bombshell dropped on him? So soon after breaking the Statute of Secrecy? He began to mutedly panic.

He calmed somewhat when he gained a hot chocolate but even as he sipped on the comforting drink, he was unable to get the nagging thoughts out of his mind. One by one the other passengers arrived at their destination, leaving Harry the sole passenger.

“Right then, James,” said Stan, clapping his hands, “whereabouts in London?”

“Diagon Alley,” came Harry’s response.

“Righto,” said Stan. “’Old tight, then.”

With a mighty BANG, they were on the move again.

Soon they were thundering along Charing Cross Road. Harry sat up and watched buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus’s way. The sky was getting a little lighter. He would lie low for a couple of hours, go to Gringotts the moment it opened, then set off. To where he didn’t know.

Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of a small and shabby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, behind which lay the magical entrance to Diagon Alley.

“Thanks,” Harry said to Ern. He jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower his trunk and Hedwig’s cage onto the pavement.

“Well,” said Harry. “Bye then!” he saluted Stan, getting the gesture returned before the bus tore off into the distance.

A stooping figure bearing a lantern appeared through the door and Harry relaxed at the sight of Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord. In short order, Harry was in the pub and sat at a table; butterbeer and meal before him. With a room for the night and a good meal he was set, for the moment at least.

* * *

Still, Harry was on edge. And so, did his best to stay out of sight. He tucked himself away into a corner with a measly sandwich and butterbeer. His mind was whirling with thoughts and ideas, some of them being discarded as soon as they formed while others were explored till they were deemed useless.

He was finally starting to calm down when he had finished his meal, something that took the better part of 30 minutes, though it felt like he was struggling to keep it down his insides were so tense.

“There you are, Harry,” a voice spoke from behind as a hand landed on his shoulder. Harry was on his feet, fist flying towards the voice’s owner before he had fully processed what was going on. Thankfully, for the voice at least, he managed to stop his fist before it landed squarely in the face of one Cornelius Fudge.

“So-sorry Minister.” Harry stuttered, flushing in embarrassment.

“It-it’s quite all right my boy. With the way the world is now, it’s very understandable as to why you’d feel on edge.” The minister of magic coughed, quickly trying the play situation off. “Of course, we do need to have a word in private” he spoke, before turning and walking away, ordering a pot of tea as he did so. Harry swiftly following him to a private booth.

Both males had sat down when Tom the innkeeper reappeared, wearing an apron over his nightshirt and bearing a tray of tea and crumpets. He placed the tray on a table between Fudge and Harry and left the parlor, closing the door behind him.

“Well, Harry,” said Fudge, pouring out tea, “you’ve had us all in a right flap, I don’t mind telling you. Running away from your aunt and uncle’s house like that! I’d started to think…but you’re safe, and that’s what matters.” And in an instant, any embarrassment over punching the minister disappeared. Still, Harry knew better than to try and tell his side of the story so he endured it.

Fudge buttered himself a crumpet and pushed the plate toward Harry.

“Eat, Harry, you look dead on your feet. Now then,” he paused to have a mouthful of crumpet and tea. “You will be pleased to hear that we have dealt with the unfortunate blowing-up of Miss Marjorie Dursley. Two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad were dispatched to Privet Drive a few hours ago. Miss Dursley has been calmed and her memory has been modified. She has no recollection of the incident at all. So that’s that, and no harm is done.” 

Harry slumped in relief over this information. A huge load having been lifted from his shoulders at the news. No longer feeling like it was a fight to eat began to butter himself a crumpet and filled his teacup. Cornelious allowing him a moment to eat in silence before he continued.

“Now, I imagine you’re worried about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?” asked Fudge. “Well, I won’t deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays.”

Harry swallowed his current mouthful.

“I always stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays,” he said, “and I…” he paused for the briefest of moments before changing tact, the past one and half weeks were tolerable “thank you for negotiating my stay with my… family.” The words spoken caused Harry to feel the need for a shower.

“So all that remains,” said Fudge, now buttering himself a second crumpet, “is to decide where you’re going to spend the last two weeks of your vacation. I suggest you take a room here at the Leaky Cauldron and…”

“Hang o-uh-I mean excuse me,” blurted Harry. “What about my punishment?”

Fudge blinked. “Punishment?”

“I broke the law!” Harry said. “The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!”

“Oh, my dear boy, we’re not going to punish you for a little thing like that!” cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. “It was an accident! We don’t send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!”

Harry narrowed his eyes, that didn’t track with what he knew of the ministry.

“Last year, I got an official warning just because a house-elf smashed a pudding in my uncle’s house!” he told Fudge, frowning. “The Ministry of Magic said I’d be expelled from Hogwarts if there was any more magic there!”

Unless Harry’s eyes were deceiving him, Fudge was suddenly looking awkward.

“Circumstances change, Harry…We have to take into account…in the present climate…Surely you don’t want to be expelled?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Harry.

“Well then, what’s all the fuss about?” laughed Fudge. “Now, have a crumpet, Harry, while I go and see if Tom’s got a room for you.”

Left alone with his thoughts, Harry’s mind whirred with possibilities. ‘ _ Clearly, something about the escaped prisoner was messing with people and somehow, this prisoner had something, a connection to me. So, now the question is how does it all fi-- _ ’

“Room eleven’s free, Harry,” said Fudge, disrupting the chain of thoughts. “I think you’ll be very comfortable just one thing, and I’m sure you’ll understand…I don’t want you wandering off into Muggle London, all right? Keep to Diagon Alley. And you’re to be back here before dark each night. Sure you’ll understand. Tom will be keeping an eye on you for me.” he sounded awkward as if he was trying to get the right words to explain these limitations but not being able to.

“Suppose with Black on the loose I really shouldn’t go around tempting fight” Harry spoke catching a sharp but approving glance from the Minister. 

“That you shouldn’t! Now, my boy, I really must be off. Being the Minister of Magic means my work is never quite done.” The man spoke jovially, swiftly collecting his effects and being to leave.

“Oh! Sorry for taking up so much of your time then Minister” Harry spoke, grimacing at having held him up.

“Think nothing of it and enjoy Diagon Alley.” the Minister waved off his concern before offering his hand to Harry “Now, goodbye Mr. Potter.” 

“Goodbye, Minister.” Harry spoke, shaking the offered hand and watching as the Minister left. Realizing that he was still quite hungry and looking at the table behind him, he licked his lips and settled in for a minor feast.

He’d just finished when Tom came in to escort him to his room. Harry was delighted to see Hedwig there and, after some time stroking his owl, shed his glasses and clothing to finally embrace sleep. He barely managed to cover himself before the events of the day caught up to him and sent him into the world of dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to [Ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost509/pseuds/ghost509) by a for making my ramblings legible. Please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.

Harry’s eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn’t see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder…

‘ _Well, this could have gone better_ ’ was the last coherent thought of one Harry Potter before his mind was consumed by fear and the fury of Thundersong. As the darkness took him, his mind returned to two weeks ago, when he’d first arrived at the alley.

* * *

**(Flashback: Two weeks ago)**

With his room and board covered, and anxiety finally ended, Harry was able to relax. Two weeks, free of the Dursleys. Free of restrictions. Free of isolation. He could travel the length and breadth of Diagon Alley, he could do his homework, what little of it there was left, in the sun. Enjoying the literally magically delicious ice cream from Florence.

He could track the progress of his Basilisk sales, the restored skins alone having given him and Ron quite the profit. Hell, the money from one alone was a lot so the extra skin was gifted to Ginny, Harry wanted her to get something out of that nightmare. Another bonus was the Goblins, after learning it was he who restored the skins, also pointed out that the Fangs could be restored and sold as well.

Even better; Tom didn’t seem to mind his casting magic, so long as he wasn’t _too_ overt with it. So Harry was free to practice spells from his textbooks and Thundersong’s memories. His current favorite was Bregða, a simple but versatile transfiguration spell. He also took to running laps of the alley, no need to let his built-up fitness go to waste after all.

The small part of him that was aware of girls practically preened under the attention he got from them, which did wonders for his self-confidence. Though he did have to warn off a hag or two, but, a flash of electrified eyes scared away anything with sense. Like that damned book, Harry loved Hagrid like an uncle but the man clearly forgot how tough he was in comparison to others.

Still, he spent his days shopping in the Alley; proving to have a lot of self-control when it came to impulse buying, he managed to avoid purchasing a Nimbus 2001. He was even learning magic, both theoretical and practical. No Dursleys or Aunt Marge, and no low-light reading; being able to embrace his magic freely helped make this the best summer Harry had ever had.

He’d been in the alley for two days when he saw some commotion around his favorite shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies. Curious to know what the crowd in the shop was staring at, Harry edged his way inside and squeezed in among the excited witches and wizards until he glimpsed a newly erected podium, on which was mounted the most magnificent broom he had ever seen in his life.

“Just come out — prototype —” a square-jawed wizard was telling his companion.

“It’s the fastest broom in the world, isn’t it, Dad?” squeaked a boy younger than Harry, who was swinging off his father’s arm.

“Irish International Side’s just put in an order for seven of these beauties!” the proprietor of the shop told the crowd.

“And they’re favorites for the World Cup!” A large witch in front of Harry moved, and he was able to read the sign next to the broom:

** _THE FIREBOLT_ **

 _THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART RACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED, SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND-NUMBERED WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTED BIRCH TWIG IN THE BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, GIVING THE FIREBOLT UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THE FIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS AND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM. PRICE ON REQUEST_.

Price on request…Harry didn’t like to think how much gold the Firebolt would cost. He had never wanted anything as much in his whole life — but he had never lost a Quidditch match on his Nimbus Two Thousand, and what was the point in emptying his Gringotts vault for the Firebolt, when he had a very good broom already? 

With a defeated sigh, Harry left, though he vowed to come back. “School supplies… school supplies'' he muttered as he went to the Apothecary to replenish his store of potion ingredients, and as his school robes were now several inches too short in the arm and leg, he visited Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions and bought new ones. Most important of all, he had to buy his new school books, which would include those for his two new subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.

Harry got a surprise as he looked in at the bookshop window. Instead of the usual display of gold-embossed spellbooks the size of paving slabs, there was a large iron cage behind the glass that held about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively.

Harry pulled his booklist out of his pocket and consulted it for the first time. The Monster Book of Monsters was listed as the required book for Care of Magical Creatures. Now Harry understood why Hagrid had said it would come in useful. He felt relieved; he had been wondering whether Hagrid wanted help with some terrifying new pet.

As Harry entered Flourish and Blotts, the manager came hurrying toward him. “Hogwarts?” he said abruptly. “Come to get your new books?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “I need —”

“Get out of the way,” said the manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of the monster Books’ cage.

“Hang on,” said Harry quickly, “I’ve already got one of those.”

“Have you?” A look of enormous relief spread over the manager’s face. “Thank heavens for that. I’ve been bitten five times already this morning —” A loud ripping noise tore the air; two of the Monster Books had seized a third and were pulling it apart.

“Stop it! Stop it!” cried the manager. Harry reacted, almost on instinct, and electrified his hand before letting a small thundercrack off. The books all seemed to cower and retreat to the corners of the cage.

“Oh, thank you, young man! Thank you!” the manager shook Harry’s hand so hard, Harry thought he’d lose his arm.

“I’m never stocking them again, never! It’s been bedlam! I thought we’d seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of the Invisible Book of Invisibility — cost a fortune, and we never found them…Well…is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes,” said Harry, looking down his booklist, “I need _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ by Laurenzoo”

“Ah, starting Ancient Runes, are you?” said the manager, stripping off his gloves and leading Harry into the back of the shop, where there was a corner devoted to runic texts. Harry saw many books on hieroglyphs, Elder and Younger Furthark, and Anglo-Saxon. 

“Here you are,” said the manager, who had climbed a set of steps to take down a thick, black-bound book. “ _Ancient Runes Made Easy_. A very good guide to all your basic rune languages and translations.”

Out of the corner of Harry’s eye, he saw something in the divination section. He turned and saw another book, which was among a display on a small table: Death Omens — What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming.

“Oh, I wouldn’t read that if I were you,” said the manager lightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at. “You’ll start seeing death omens everywhere. It’s enough to frighten anyone to death.”

But Harry continued to stare at the front cover of the book; it showed a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes. His eyes narrowed, cause the dog looked familiar…

The manager pressed _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ into Harry’s hands. “Anything else?” he said.

“Yes,” said Harry, tearing his eyes away from the dog’s and dazedly consulting his booklist. “Er — I need _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three_.”

Harry emerged from Flourish and Blotts ten minutes later with his new books under his arms and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, hardly noticing where he was going and bumping into several people.

He tramped up the stairs to his room, went inside, and tipped his books onto his bed. Somebody had been in to tidy; the windows were open and the sun was pouring inside. Harry could hear the buses rolling by in the unseen Muggle street behind him and the sound of the invisible crowd below in Diagon Alley. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the basin.

“... Death Omen? I don’t think so. C’mon Potter, get a grip” a fortifying breath, a splash of water “calm down, you’ve played Knock Down Ginger on Death before. You’re not going to die just cause a stray dog showed up,” with another splash of water, Harry managed to dismiss the thought from his mind.

The day’s slipped by, Harry starting to look for Ron and Hermione. Running into plenty of Hogwarts students in the process. He ran into Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, his fellow Gryffindors, in Quality Quidditch Supplies, where they too were ogling the Firebolt; he also ran into Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, forgetful boy, outside Flourish and Blotts. All three boys had fantasized about riding around on the awesome broom. 

Deciding to bail his friend out of trouble, Harry swiftly duplicated his own list and swapped the Ancient Runes book for the Divination one, and made like Neville had just dropped it instead of leaving it at home. The formidable-looking Augusta Longbottom raised a skeptical eyebrow but instructed Neville to be more aware of things and left it at that.

The following day, Harry decided to get his school robes and relaxing clothes. His old clothes were too small and tight on him, ripping at the slightest movement; a feat which filled Harry with pride. He also got a proper set of glasses, Madam Malkin having gleefully suggested he go to Victoire Videns’ glasses shop. The kindly older woman who ran the shop giving Harry a set of glasses that “didn’t hide away those wondrous green eyes”

Harry woke on the last day of the holidays, thinking that he would at least meet Ron and Hermione tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express. He got up, dressed, went for a last look at the Firebolt, and was just wondering where he’d have lunch when someone yelled his name and he turned.

“Harry! HARRY!”

They were there, both of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor — Ron looking incredibly freckly, Hermione very brown, both waving frantically at him. Harry ideally noted that Hermione froze then blushed as Harry got closer to them but ignored it in favor of catching up with his friends.

“Finally!” said Ron, grinning at Harry as he sat down. “We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you’d left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin’s, and —”

“I got all my school stuff last week,” Harry explained. “And how come you knew I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Dad,” said Ron simply.

Arthur, who worked at the Ministry of Magic, would of course have heard the whole story of what had happened to Aunt Marge. This snapped Hermione from her daze, though her cheeks were still colored she rejoined the conversation.

“Did you really magically assault your aunt, Harry?” said Hermione in a very serious voice.

His eyes flashed blue “She was bad-mouthing Mum and Dad. She’s never even met them and she was disrespecting their memory.” he growled out, sparks dancing around his fists. Hermione laid a soft hand against his arm, blue eyes locked with warm, concerned brown and Harry let out an explosive sigh. His eyes returning to being green as the sparks dissipated.

“Oh, well, at least you weren’t expelled” Ron managed, his own blue eyes flashing orange as he got mad on his friend’s behalf. Hermione was secretly glad that he didn’t comment on the fact that she was still touching Harry’s arm.

“Anyway, in more important news; Ron.” Harry paused a moment, to make sure his friend was paying attention, “Gringotts came through for us” he said with a smirk. One that grew when Ron’s face morphed to confusion, then to triumph. Harry slid him the key to the vault across the table, Ron looking positively giddy as he held the vault key.

* * *

From there it was a flash of movement and noise as the trio fell into old habits, though Ron took his first ride to his own vault which left him in such a good mood that there were no fireworks when Hermione’s new cat nearly killed Scabbers but he did lock horns with Hermione over it.

Though Ron did complain to Harry about him “already knowing Ancient Runes” and not needing to take the course, something Hermione disagreed with, quite strenuously. Though Harry silenced them with a flick of his wand and a whispered “ _Silencio_ ” meaning he got some poisonous glares as they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron. 

Harry grinned a little when they ran into the rest of the Weasleys; Gred and Forge always made life that little bit more exciting and the hugs he got for Ginny’s vault as well as the Gringotts letter for the new family vault. They were a far cry from the Malfoy’s but no longer were they considered impoverished, for the first time in a decade or so, the Weasleys were going to Hogwarts with new robes.

Though, despite the joviality, Harry could still sense something was wrong. Something confirmed when he heard an argument between Molly and Arthur.

“…makes no sense not to tell him,” Arthur was saying heatedly. “Harry’s got a right to know. I’ve tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Harry like a child. He’s thirteen years old and —”

“Arthur, the truth would terrify him!” said Molly shrilly. “Do you really want to send Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven’s sake, he’s happy not knowing!”

“I don’t want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!” retorted Arthur. Harry reflexively holding his breath as he tried to make as little noise as possible.

“You know what Harry and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves — they've even ended up in the Forbidden Forest! But Harry mustn’t do that this year! When I think what could have happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn’t picked him up, I’m prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him.” teenage pride warred with a heavy amount of fear as Harry took these words in.

“But he’s not dead, he’s fine, so what’s the point —”

“Molly, they say Sirius Black’s mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape from Azkaban, and that’s supposed to be impossible. It’s been three weeks, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, and I don’t care what Fudge keeps telling the Daily Prophet, we’re no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black’s after —”

“But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts.”

“We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe. If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts.”

“But no one’s really sure that Black’s after Harry —”

There was a thud on wood, and Harry was sure Arthur had banged his fist on the table.

“Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn’t report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Blacks been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts…he’s at Hogwarts.’ Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that…” There was a silence. Harry leaned still closer to the door, desperate to hear more.

“Well, Arthur, you must do what you think is right. But you’re forgetting Albus Dumbledore. I don’t think anything could hurt Harry at Hogwarts while Dumbledore’s Headmaster. I suppose he knows about all this?”

“Of course he knows. We had to ask him if he minds the Azkaban guards stationing themselves around the entrances to the school grounds. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed.”

“Not happy? Why shouldn’t he be happy, if they’re there to catch Black?”

“Dumbledore isn’t fond of the Azkaban guards,” said Arthur heavily. “Nor am I, if it comes to that…but when you’re dealing with a wizard-like Black, you sometimes have to join forces with those you’d rather avoid.”

“If they save Harry —”

“– then I will never say another word against them,” said Arthur wearily. “It’s late, Molly, we’d better go up…”

Harry had managed to hide in a corner then get the Rat Tonic for Ron. he managed not to show his discomfort, though he was kept awake all night by his warring fear and anger. Finally, he managed to settle enough to sleep, content in his vow to make Black regret ever coming after him if, _IF_ , Black did so.

It had been a manic morning, from Tom waking him with some fresh tea to the general manic energy of the Weasleys in a packing frenzy to the ministry cars even to the rush for the train carts. Harry did appreciate Arthur warning him of Black, even if he was a bit insulted by the insinuation he’d go looking for someone out to kill him.

When they found a spare compartment, they were surprised to see an adult in there. One Remus J Lupin, as Hermione pointed out. After a few moments of discussing the sleeping male, Harry divulged the fact that Sirius Black might be after him. Hermione blushed in embarrassment at the look she got when she said he shouldn’t go looking for trouble.

Along the way, the skies darkened and it began to rain, a chill seeming to settle on the train as this happened. Of course, it wouldn’t be a trip to Hogwarts without the trio being bothered by one Draco Malfoy, though he wisely backed off when he saw Remus sleeping as a fight would likely break out and wake him.

It was sometime after Malfoy had left that the chill and rain seemed to grow more pronounced. Harry’s developing senses told of something going wrong but he couldn’t discern what it was. Suddenly the train lurched to a stop, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

“What’s going on?” said Ron’s voice from behind Harry.

“Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!”

Harry felt his way back to his seat.

“D’you think we’ve broken down?”

“Dunno…”

There was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

“There’s something moving out there,” Ron said. “I think people are coming aboard…”

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Harry’s legs.

“Sorry! D’you know what’s going on? Ouch! Sorry —”

“Hullo, Neville,” said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.

“Harry? Is that you? What’s happening?”

“No idea! Sit down —”

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

“I’m going to go and ask the driver what’s going on,” came Hermione’s voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?”

“Ginny?”

“Hermione?”

“What are you doing?”

“I was looking for Ron —”

“Come in and sit down —”

“Not here!” said Harry hurriedly. “I’m here!”

“Ouch!” said Neville.

That’s when the door slid open and everyone froze.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the faint light in the compartment, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry’s eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water…

But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry’s gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart…

Harry’s eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn’t see. He was drowning in the cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder…

**(Flashback end)**

* * *

“ _Hear my name; Thundersong..._ ” Thunder roared in the heavens as lightning flashed, the whole train shock as Harry’s head snapped up, eyes burning with brilliant power. Light shone from his body as nature’s fury crawled around him. A thunder crack rocked the train as lightning collided with it, seemingly seeking out Harry. Steam rose from Harry’s body as nature’s fury combated the cold of the beast. 

The beast lunged at them only to be met by Harry’s left hand clamping its throat and slammed it against the wall, the creature shrieking in outrage at the act. More steam poured from Harry’s grip as the creature’s wintery aura warred with Harry’s electrical one, a battle Harry was steadily losing.

“ _Begone Beast_ ” Harry commanded in a voice filled with power. The beast lashed out with a rotted hand, frost and shadow trailing powering the blow. Harry’s left arm batted the strike away, as he raised his right, now wielding Gryffindor’s sword once more, the blade wreathed in lightning. With a savage thrust, the blade was embedded through the beast’s mouth, an unearthly scream erupting from it.

It was not the sound it made that snapped Harry out of his rage, no it was the words spoken in that sound, “<PAIN! WHY DO I FEEL PAIN!?>” though to the others it was a high-pitched shriek that seemed to invade their minds, Harry couldn’t say which was worse. “<FOUL MORTAL SPAWN!>” it spoke again, Harry somehow managing to not look like he heard it. The part of Harry not currently focused on driving the beast away tried and failed to figure out why it sounded... familiar.

A cry brought Harry’s attention to the people with him as Ginny, who was more sensitive to such assaults than most, curled into a ball and broke down while Ron tried to summon some flames, the cold sapping his strength. Hermione seemed to be shivering with a layer of frost crawling up her body while Neville just wept on the floor.

The beast, enraged at being hurt managed to dislodge the sword, now coated in a black Ichor, which fell to the ground with a loud clatter. Before the beast could advance on them, however, the sleeping male awoke. Ears still ringing from the scream, no one heard him incant anything, but they all saw the white wolf that leaped from his wand and warder the creature off.

With the creature gone, the lights returned, and indeed, the train began to move again. The first sound they heard when their hearing returned was a loud snap that made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

“Here,” he said to Ginny, handing her a particularly large piece. “Eat it. It’ll help.”

Ginny took the chocolate, nibbling it slowly.

“What was that thing?” Harry asked Lupin.

“A Dementor,” said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. “One of the Dementors of Azkaban.” as he spoke, he handed Harry the smallest and last piece of chocolate; Harry noticed he wasn’t as scared or cold as everyone else. 

Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

“Eat,” he repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…”

He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor. Though, with the danger gone, the tension slowly ebbed away. Leaving a fragile peace in its place. Ron looked a bit put out when he saw Ginny and Hermione bury themselves in Harry’s arms, but didn’t say anything - he was sitting a little closer to Neville than he normally would.

The rest of the journey was done with minimal sound, the girls taking some time to leave Harry’s arms. Though soon, they were nearing the Hogsmeade station and so the boys left the compartment to let the girls change in peace, the two groups swapping when the girls were done.

Harry felt a bit of irritation when he and Ginny were fused over by McGonagall and Pomfrey, Harry’s eyes sparking as the Matron checked him over. Though he was happy to see that Ginny was the primary focus, having reacted very badly to the Dementors. It was to his relief when he was discharged and allowed to attend the feast, though he’d missed the sorting.

When Dumbledore gave his welcome speech and warnings as well as introducing the new teachers, Lupin who they’d met on the train and was met with moderate applause, and Hagrid who was taking over for the now-retired Professor Kettleburn in the _Care of Magical Creatures_ Harry and co practically lead the clapping here.

Soon, the feast was over, and it was time to retreat to the common rooms and with this, they were able to congratulate Hagrid “Can’ believe it…great man, Dumbledore…came straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he’d had enough…It’s what I always wanted…” before they were shooed away by Professor McGonagall. They quickly returned to the rest of the Gryffindor House, learning the new password _Fortuna Major_ and began heading to bed.

Harry was happy as he climbed the spiral staircase and reached the familiar, circular dormitory with its five four-poster beds, and Harry, looking around, felt he was home at last. The Issues with Sirius Black were forgotten for now as Harry got ready for bed and settled in, drifting off with thoughts of Magic and Thunder.

* * *

**This Chapters Grimoire**

****Bregða /Change \- a spell that morphs matter into a liquid state that the caster can freely shape then reharden.  
** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, once again, please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to [Raef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raef_Darksbane/pseuds/Raef_Darksbane) for making my ramblings legible. Please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. When Draco pointed at Harry and made a show of going limp, the laughter exploded from the table. Ron and Hermione both growled at them, which only encouraged the Slytherins.

Harry, meanwhile, merely raised an eyebrow when he and Draco locked eyes, silently daring the blond to do it again. Draco gulped and noticeably shuddered when Harry casually electrified his eyes and pointedly looked down his nose at him. His lips quirked into a smirk at how quickly the Slytherins turned away from his stare.

“Honestly Harry,” Hermione began, not quite able to keep the glee out of her voice, “you should just ignore him, it’s not worth it…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing to slits as she caught sight of the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson. The two were very heated and very public enemies. Harry’s and Draco’s rivalry might be more famous, but Hermione’s and Pansy’s rivalry was by far the more vicious.

Breaking his gaze away, Harry led his friends to the Gryffindor table, where he dropped into the seat next to George.

“New third-year course schedules,” said George, passing them over. “What’s up with you, Harry?” He asked, having spotted the blue in Harry’s eyes. 

“Malfoy,” said Ron, sitting down on George’s other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy and friends were trying to look intimidating.

“That little git,” George said calmly. “He wasn’t so cocky last night when the Dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?”

“Nearly wet himself,” said Fred with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.

“I wasn’t too happy myself,” said George. “They’re horrible things, those Dementors…”

Harry froze as he recalled the Dementors; _“ <PAIN! WHY DO I FEEL PAIN!?>” _ Harry shuddered as he recalled the words the monster had spoken. The memory was so vivid it was almost like he could still hear them. He took an unsteady breath as his nerves acted up.

Then he realized why the words the Dementor had said were so familiar. He’d heard that language once before; he now knew what the shade of Riddle had been casting at him, meaning that there was a connection there and Harry didn’t want to know what it was. Harry knew what he was bringing up with Dumbledore in their next lesson now.

“Sort of freeze your insides, don’t they?” said Fred, pulling Harry out of his memories.

“Ye-yeah,” Harry said, still feeling the echoes of the foul creature’s spoken words, though less so than before. The twins mistook his stutter as something else.

“Forget it, Harry,” said George bracingly. “Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he’d ever been. He came back all weak and shaking…They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there.”

“Anyway, we’ll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match,” said Fred. “Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?” 

Harry’s lips pulled into a smirk. The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had most definitely come off worse.

Wearing a satisfied smirk—both at the concept of driving Malfoy into the ground and the memories of doing it before—Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes, taking note of Hermione as she examined her new schedule. “Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she said happily.

“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your timetable. Look—they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall,” came the girl’s assured, almost flippant, response. 

“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And—” Ron leaned closer to the timetable, disbelieving, “look—underneath that, Runes, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

“Well then—”

“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione, cutting Ron off.

“But—”

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my timetable’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.” 

Harry laid a gentle hand on his friend’s arm, and when she looked at him he raised an eyebrow in question. She flushed but shook her head at the unspoken question.

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

“All righ’?” he asked eagerly, pausing on his way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five getting’ everthin’ ready…hope it’s okay…me, a teacher…hones’ly…”

He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice. Harry reluctantly agreed, remembering the pet Acromantuala his friend had.

The Hall was starting to empty as people headed off towards their first lesson. Ron checked his schedule.

“We’d better go. Look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take me ten minutes to get there…” he spoke, suddenly remembering that he would be in there alone.

“Agreed. Harry and I need to head off to Ancient Runes. Oh, I’m so excited!” A girlish squeal of delight left Hermione’s lips before it was abruptly cut off. Hermione’s glare snapped to Harry and Ron. “Tell no one!” she snarled at them. Both boys shared a look before bursting into laughter.

“And we still need to get there, so… let’s get a move on people,” Harry said after he’d finished his breakfast. 

Leaving the Entrance Hall, Harry and Hermione set out on a journey to find the South Tower. It was long and arduous but, with the help of a friendly painting, they made it to class, and Hermione could barely contain her glee. This was where they met their Professor for the course, one Bathsheba Babbling.

She was a short, lean woman wearing stylized robes of midnight blue with golden runic designs. He took in her heart-shaped face, he took in her tanned skin and smooth chin that led into high cheekbones.

Her robes themselves did little to hide or accentuate her figure and Harry was able to make out some Elder and Younger Furthark there, as well as what had to have been Celtic runes. But still, Harry found himself struggling to keep his eyes above her neckline. She barely looked a day over thirty meaning she clearly had some strong magic. At the sound of her clearing her throat, the sounds of his classmates’ chatter returned only to fall silent. He felt his face flush and quickly dispelled the thoughts of just how attractive his teacher was. Thankfully, she adopted a stern look that reminded them of McGonagall which quickly focused the more easily distracted males. 

“Hello, students. I am Bathsheba Babbling, Professor Babbling to you. I do apologize for being here after you; I had a side project that went awry,” she explained in a soft but stern voice as her eyes wandered the crowd.

“Come, let us begin,” she ordered as she led them into the classroom, the classroom followed the basic layout of a classroom; a series of tables facing towards a board of some kind. What differed was the rest was the series of rune engraving kits on the tables. As well as a series of runes at the top of them. Harry could vaguely recognize them as Younger Furthark, though he could only make out ᛚᚬᚾᚴᛅᚢᛁᛏᚢ/longevity.

Once the class was seated, Professor Babbling started speaking again, gesturing to the board where a series of runes were becoming visible. “In this class, you will learn the many languages of runes. If you do well enough, you may even learn how to apply these languages to items for powerful enchantments or wards. However, I will not teach you these skills if you plan to use them for harmful purposes. Am I understood?”

She never raised her voice; she didn’t need to. Her magic suffused itself throughout the words and her aura washed over the class. Only Harry remained unaffected by the pressure, and only because he knew she was not using her full power. With her point made, she went about her lesson by introducing everyone to Elder Furthark, and Harry found himself bored. Not because he wasn’t fascinated by runes, but because he knew all of this already.

Getting out some spare parchment, Harry began to design an idea that had been bothering him all summer, namely, the rune carving set. He’d come up with a way around it within five minutes of seeing his first set, and now he was set to actually make it, having found some leftover metal from the seventh-year Conjuration session.

“Ah, Mister Potter. I see you’ve turned your attention elsewhere… care to explain why?” Professor Babbling asked with an arched eyebrow, disappointment tempered by understanding shining in her eyes. Harry swiftly looked away, silently berating himself for this slip-up.

“Oh! Um, I… already know Elder Furthark...” Harry stammered, startled. Professor Babbling made a noise of surprise, drawing Harry’s eyes to her own. The professor’s look of disappointment had changed to one of curiosity.

“Oh… how fluently?”

Harry thought for a moment before speaking. “I can read the accented Shield, Strength, and boosted Defense on your robes,” he said with confidence. After a moment, he glanced at the board and added, "On the board’s edge, I can see the runes for Longevity, Stamina, and Endurance." He risked a glance at his teacher and was confused to see her looking so shocked.

“... Well then…” she visibly shook off her surprise and quickly switched back into teacher mode. “What is it you appear to be working on, Mister Potter?” she asked, her gaze dropping to his sketches he'd been doing.

“Um… a Rune Stylus,” Harry muttered, embarrassed and not meeting the woman’s eyes, shrinking in on himself.

“A Rune Stylus?” she questioned.

“Yeah. I figured, why use a carving set that takes hours of meticulous carving when you can use a stylus that will take a fraction of that time and be more accurate?” Harry muttered, embarrassed and not meeting the woman’s eyes, shrinking in on himself.

“Show me.”

His gaze snapped to hers, and he saw a look of interesting gleaming in her eyes. “It... it’s not finished yet...” Harry stuttered, a little caught off guard by her interest.

“You have your blueprints, yes?” 

“Yes.”

“Then show me them.” 

Harry reluctantly handed them over, confused and scared as he broke eye contact. For a few moments, he sat in silence, hearing nothing but the ruffling of parchment and his teacher's hums and haws. To distract himself, he mentally went over his designs: a ᚲᚺᚨᛜᛖ/Change cluster embedded in a ᛗᛁᚾᛞ/Mind and ᚠᛟᚱᛗ/Form scheme, which would, hopefully, allow the stylus to respond to the thoughts of the writer.

"Circe's tit! This is the most ingenious piece of rune-crafting I've seen in a decade!" Professor Babbling ignored the snickering and rounded on Harry, her sense of decorum vanishing in the face of her passion as she locked eyes with him. “Mister Potter, how long would it take to make this?”

“Ummm…. Maybe an hour? It-it’d be faster if I could transfigure the stylus, from this—” he raised the quill sized metal cylinder“—to incorporate the designs. I know a spell that would do it, but I’ve never been able to make it work,” he admitted miserably. 

“What spell?” 

The question caught Harry off guard. “Huh?”

“The Spell, what is it?” she asked again, a bit more forcefully this time.

“Oh, um, Bregða,” Harry said, subconsciously drawing his wand and performing the movement—a full circle in the air followed by a flick up—as he spoke it. Having seen the movements and heard the name, Bathsheba quickly had Harry place the stylus on the table.

Harry watched as the metal liquefied and reformed, Professor Babbling taking care to ‘inscribe’ the runes all across its surface as well as keep it within Harry's sight. Already, Harry could see mistakes. As he watched her work, his eyes narrowed, almost 'seeing' how the spell worked and how it affected the metal. He caught a flash of his teacher’s pleased grin before she refocused on her task.

After five minutes of ‘inscribing,’ she’d finished. She allowed Harry to try and use his new stylus to inscribe some runes of protection into his desk. He noticed the moment he was done that something had gone wrong. His eyes snapped to the starting point of his enchantment and, rune by rune, he began to break it down. It took him a little over a minute to realize that his runes were incorrect. He had ᛞᛖᚠ/Def where he should have had ᛞᛖᚠᛖᚾᛊᛖ/Defend and had ᛊᚨᚠᛖ/Safe where he should of had ᛊᚨᚠᛖᚷᚢᚨᚱᛞ/Safeguard. Problem found, he turned his gaze to his stylus and began to compare it to his designs, searching for the cause of the malformation.

“Shall I assume you’ll have that finished by the end of the lesson?” 

Harry nodded determinedly, his mind was already whirling with ideas and runes. He surprised his teacher again twenty minutes later when he was able to take another slab of metal and begin the process of enchanting it. This time, his basic shielding ward worked, as evidenced by the sudden influx of sound from his desk.

“Well done Mister Potter. Well done,” the Professor said as she approached his desk, taking his stylus from him and inspecting it. To test it, she conjured a long, smooth piece of black wood, and then began to enchant it. The process wasn't the smoothest, as she had to press the stylus into the wood, wait for it to indent the symbol, pull the stylus back, wait for the symbol/rune to change, and repeat. But this process was already much faster than the current method.

Harry was pleased with himself; both at the words of praise from his teacher and at the fact that he’d managed to correct his Stylus. Sure, there was room for improvement, but he had five years to do that.

* * *

Another set of eyes watched Harry work, these ones icy blue and filled with curiosity and calculations. Daphne was more sensitive to magical power than most her age and could tell that Harry had more than anyone in the room. That alone would have grabbed her attention, but it was the Norse spell and rune work that stood out to her. 

Either one of these facts alone meant that he could be of use. She felt a flash of distaste at that thought, she hated using people as it felt indecent, so despite its necessity it still left a bad taste in her mouth. Still, having Nordic Magic, which grew stronger the more the user struggled, and Runecrafting, which indicatedhe had the potential to make powerful magical items, meant that even if he wasn’t The Boy-Who-Lived, he would gain immense political sway.

Silently, she watched him work and succeed at a project that many had failed. This, more than anything else, gave her hope. She started formulating plans and plots, for she would need them in the coming days. Even now, she could feel the blade of her father’s plight a hair’s breadth away from her neck. She would not marry Malfoy; she would not!

After the lesson had ended, she approached him. Some amusement danced in her eyes when she saw his bushy-haired friend move closer to him, no doubt feeling threatened by her. “Potter, a word if you wouldn’t mind?” she asked, cold but polite.

“Mind if Hermione comes with, Greengrass? Anything you say is just gonna get repeated,” Potter said flatly, and she appreciated his honesty.

Daphne nodded, and together they strode away. While they walked, she idly checked Potter out.; he’d grown since last year and was beginning to put on height and muscle. She repressed a grin when Hermione stepped between them with a glare aimed her way.

“ _Geyma Hljóð_ 1. Talk now,” Potter said, after having erected a basic but powerful silencing field. She shuddered a little. She was sure she knew more spells than he did, but his power… She decided there and then that she never wanted to duel or fight him. 

While she was desperately trying not to show Harry just how much he scared her, she caught a glimpse of his eyes examining her.

Discreetly, she looked at the nearby suit of armor to check her reflection, idly noticing that she and Granger were about the same height. Her long, platinum blonde locks cascaded down her back. Her worry turned them blue for an instant before she mastered herself and returned them to her chosen color. 

She also noticed, and was inwardly pleased, to see that her striking blue eyes were glowing softly. Finally, her robes, which did not hide or accentuate her figure, still showed her as a very pretty girl. She subtly nodded in approval; she was equipped to deal with Potter.

“First a question: how much do you know of Pureblood Politics?” Daphne asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing aside from the fact that it’s often about who’s got the bigger metaphorical dick.” came Potter’s vulgar but true answer. 

“HAARY! LANGUAGE!” Granger swatted him, though more in line with punishing him for being vulgar in front of a lady than for any insult towards the Politics in general.

“Indeed. In this case, my father is pushing me towards a marriage contract with Draco Malfoy at the behest of Lord Malfoy… and while I must tolerate him in public, I assure you, I have no desire to be his arm candy,” Daphne said firmly, locking her intense gaze with Potter’s.

However, it seemed that she’d chosen the wrong words. “A marriage contract?! In this day and age?! What kind of BIGOTED, BACKWARD, SEXIST SOCIETY IS THIS?!” Granger screamed shrilly.

“Hermi-” Potter tried to break into the rant but was cut across.

“WHAT KIND OF MONSTER WOULD SELL THEIR DAUGHTER OFF LIKE A PIECE OF MEAT?!” Granger shrieked again, Daphne wincing from the volume.

“Hermio-” Potter was once more cut off.

“IT’S DISGUSTING! THE YEAR’S 1993 NOT 193-” Granger looked to be winding up for a long one. Thankfully, Potter saved her from it.

“HERMIONE! ENOUGH!” his voice boomed like thunder as he got her attention. This was not necessarily a good thing.

“HARRY! SURELY YOU CAN’T BE CONDON-” she screamed at him, only for Harry to fire back.

“IT’S NOT OUR PLACE TO JUDGE!” the barrier became visible as his voice reverberated off of it. A flash of his aura seemed to snap the brunette out of her rage.

“Indeed, Granger. I’ll thank you to not insult my culture.” Daphne spoke coldly. She may agree with some of her points, but that did not give the girl the right to brazenly insult her traditions.

“Bu-but how can you be fine with this trave-” she began, only for Potter to once more cut her off.

“Hermione! Stop jumping to conclusions! We’ve learned this lesson already!” he ordered, locking eyes with the girl. 

“But-” Daphne hid a smirk as she enjoyed the show.

“It is not our place to judge! Apologize, you’ve insulted her for a difference of opinion, which is not a reason to do so!” Harry ordered firmly. 

“Har-” She tried, only for Potter to cut her off.

“Would you like it if Miss Greengrass walked into the muggle world and started insulting their customs?” he asked with a raised brow. Granger shrank in on herself at this.

“Bu-” she tried only to meet the same stone wall as before. “Fine. I’m sorry Miss Greengrass. I insulted your culture and customs without trying to understand why you have them.” she was irritable, but the apology was sincere. Daphne could’ve snorted, knowing Granger she’d likely get another apology later.

“Very well Granger. Apology accepted, and do not worry, I agree with you on the marriage contract. But, never call my father a monster again. He may be gruff, but he is still my father.” she spoke, her voice was warmer though all that meant was that it was cold instead of frigid.

Granger’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, I’m so sorry Greengrass, I didn’t mean to insult hi-” Daphne almost groaned. Of course, Granger had to be the kind to not realize that she was being insulting.

“It’s fine Granger, I can see that you intended no insult. But please, watch your words in the future.” Daphne sighed, no need to antagonize her savior’s best friend.

“To get this back on track, I sympathize with you, I really do, but how can I help? S’not like I can just beat the little gobshite up ‘til he backs off. I’d be the most likely suspect,” Potter said after a moment of silence.

“Indeed. I can see this happening one of four ways: you take me as a sl-slave or offer me a Brothel contract, a Marriage contract, or vow of protection.” Daphne’s voice was icy but hollow. Daphne winced at Harry’s shocked look. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her now mousy brown hair. With a subtle scowl, she fixed it as her father’s voice echoed in her mind. ‘ _Don’t show weakness, ever._ ’

“Forgive me, Greengrass, but that’s a lot to take in,” Potter managed to get out, looking rocked from the statement of the currently blonde girl. Daphne nodded with a flash of empathy in her eyes, which made Potter startle straight up. She almost lost her composure again when she saw his face harden, and she could swear she could almost see the whirl of ideas in his mind.

“Tell me how this vow works. And how long do we have to take it,” he ordered her, his face morphing into one of fierce determination. Her jaw nearly dropped when it did so. It did so when Granger spoke up.

“A vow of protection, last used in 1922, is a vow that someone takes to protect allies, friends, family, and or country. Depending on the wording of this vow, the protector can be a temporary or a permanent position. It was mostly used by bodyguards in the early nineties to ensure that prominent Lords were safe. It fell out of favor with the masses when Lord André Malfoy used it to swindle two families out of their money and positions.” Granger said, looking at Potter. Daphne caught a hint of an awed smile on his face at the information she’d given.

“Be-before we discuss that. Your Rune Work. How soon can you market it?” Daphne countered, her hair losing some of its brilliance for a moment before it regained the almost magical shine it held.

“Depends on how much time I dedicate to it, why?” Potter asked a look of curiosity on his face.

“Because you need money and power of the political, not magical, kind. And the easiest way to get both would be through Runes. Enchanters, Cursebreakers, Warders, and Artificers are always in demand, and Professor Babbling is an acknowledged expert. One word from her and you could be very wealthy very quickly,” Daphne explained. Potter and Granger’s eyes widened as both of them caught on to why his Rune work was needed.

“And as both The Boy-Who-Lived and a well-connected Rune Master, I’d have the kind of power that would cause people like Lucius to leave you alone, right?” Potter asked, wearing the look of a man who needed something confirmed rather than needing to know.

“Correct.” Daphne nodded before adding, “Once you can market your Runes, that’s when we can talk about this vow of protection.” After she finished, neither of them spoke for a moment as they processed the conversation that had happened.

“I see… I can’t make you a promised dead-line but I can say that the stylus will be ready before Christmas,” Potter said after the silence, Eyes alight with plots and plans of his own.

“Thank you, Potter, thank you,” Daphne breathed out, visibly sagging. Her hair and skin fluctuated wildly before returning to her platinum blonde hair and ivory skin combo.

“Uh, Miss Greengrass, if it’s not too rude, why are your skin and hair changing?” Granger asked, unable to keep the question back any longer.

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m a partial Metamorphagus. I can change the color of my skin, eyes, and hair.” Daphne demonstrated this by turning her skin from ivory to tan, her eyes from blue to green, Daphne hid a grin at Granger’s look when she mimicked Potter’s eyes. She undid the changes once her point was proven. And with that, alliances were forged, plans were made, safety was assured, and lessons were learned. The makeshift trio parting ways and Daphne’s mind turned to the future and how her new acquaintance would shake it up.

* * *

Harry was walking with Ron, who’d somehow shown up with Hermione after Greengrass had disappeared when he encountered another blonde who would rock his world.

She was a lithe thing, barely reaching his chest, with light platinum blonde hair and wide silver eyes. Unlike the other blonde he’d just met, this one had an oval-shaped face, though she still had a smooth chin. Her features were… odd, though that could just be because of the wide eyes warping everything slightly.

He could also see that she wasn’t wearing shoes and had radish earrings on. Something else that caught his attention was the lack of an outer robe, which wasn’t a problem at the moment but would become one in a few weeks.

His observations were cut off when she spoke in a dreamy voice, “You feel different... tingly. How do you feel like that, Harry Potter?” 

Her question startled him and confused his friends. “Wh—” His response was cut off as she started speaking again.

“I hope you don’t change how you feel, it is quite pleasant.” Her soft dreamy tones drifted into his ears. Then the girl’s head tilted and she reached a hand towards his chest. Harry startled as he felt, and then saw, lightning jump from his chest and wrap around her, almost playfully crawling around her body.

“Thundersong… wha—” Harry stammered, caught off guard by the day he’d been having. Though at the urging of Thundersong, Harry looked into the girl’s eyes again, and what he saw made him clench his teeth. He saw pain. The kind of pain that comes from a bully who’s managed to isolate you. And given the way the Ravens were glaring, it was pretty obvious who those bullies were. “Would you like to join us for lunch? You seem to be able to interact with my partner.”

They had taken three steps when Harry remembered something. “Oh, where are my manners? As you know, I’m Harry Potter. These are my best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. May I know your name, miss?”

“Oh, I’m Luna. Luna Lovegood.”

What followed, would go down in history as the turning point of Harry Potter. After they’d joined the Gryffindor table and began to pile food onto their plates, a voice from down the table, an older male, called “Oi, Potter, What’s Loony doing here? Are you collecting stray’s now?” before bursting into a loud boisterous laugh. The reactions were mixed, Ron and Hermione looked disgruntled, the other Gryffindor's were torn between laughter and discontent.

And then there was Luna. Her previously dreamy if odd look was replaced by one of downtrodden acceptance for the tiniest of moments. Everyone missed it. Everyone but Harry. Lightning flashed in his eyes as thunder roared in his head. ‘ _This will not do._ ’ he thought.

“Apologize. Now!” his order cracked like a whip and most people felt sparks dance along their cutlery.

“Huh, Potter? What’s the matter, man? It’s just Loon—” the boy tried to get out, but was once more cut off.

“Did I stutter? You insulted her for no reason. Now, do the Gryffindorly thing and apologize.” Harry’s words cut through the older boy’s, who was now beginning to get a red face from anger and embarrassment.

“Jumped up littl—” he growled.

“Still not hearing that apology Cormin,” Harry’s flat voice cut across him, bored emerald eyes locking with 

“Why I never—” he huffed, but was once again cut off.

“Never apologize? That’s becoming obvious Corman.” Maybe it was petty, but Harry was having fun and from the giggles of Hermione and Luna, they were too. Turning to his best mate, he spoke again. “Here, let me show how it’s done. Oi Ron, yer a soddin lazy git!” The smirk on his face took any sting out of those words.

“No, seriously Potter, tell me how you really feel!” Ron fired back with, every bit as playful.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that Ron, it appears I came down with a brief-case of ‘Douchebag syndrome’ and insulted you for no reason.” The Twins, from a few places down, choked and gasped. Clearly, they weren’t ready for such a clear-cut diss. And more than half the table seemed to be quaking in laughter now.

“Hey, no harm done.” Ron finished his part in Harry’s little bit. Harry turned back to the older boy.

“Thank you, Ron. See Carmon, that’s how you apologize,” Harry said in a leading tone.

“MY NAME IS CORMAC MCLAGGEN!” Cormac, no longer able to tolerate Harry’s insults, finally exploded. 

He huffed for a few seconds before Harry spoke again, only this time it was in a quiet, threatening tone. “And her’s is Luna; use it, Cormoc.” 

The deliberate misuse of his name enraged the boy and he went for his wand, only to find Harry’s already pointed at him and dancing with sparks. “Go ahead Cormoc, try it,” he threatened with glowing blue eyes and a magical wind causing his robes to billow out. Cormac knew he was beaten, so he grudgingly sat back down. “Now, about that apology?”

“I’m… sorry,” he snarled, glaring daggers at Harry who merely let his eyes glow brighter for a moment to cow the older male before they returned to green.

“Well, Luna, do you accept his apology?” Harry turned and looked deep into those wide silvery-blue eyes that carried both innocence and pain in equal measure.

“...Yes, I do,” she said, pausing for a moment. She must have seen something in his eyes that told her all she needed to know. Harry felt a smile form at her somewhat pleased look.

“Then the matter’s closed. Now, I’ve lost my appetite and I’m going to take a walk to cool off before Charms. You’re free to stay here or to accompany me at your leisure.” Harry stood and walked off, the three people he’d entered with leaving with him. Before he left, Ron conjured a food bag to store some sandwiches in.

* * *

 **This Chapters Grimoire**  
  
 **Geyma Hljóð** /Guarded Silence; a spell that creates a powerful field, normally in the shape of a box, of silence. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, once again, please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.
> 
> and if you wish to talk to me about my works, I can be found [here](https://discord.gg/n97GeZe) and [here](https://discord.gg/kKC2tw3)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to Ike/MrBadguy for making my ramblings legible. Please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.

Having eaten the sandwiches Ron had grabbed for them and escorted Luna to her lesson early, Harry having noted more than one faltered glare at his presence. It was now nearing the end of lunch and so the trio went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A sigh passed his lips as he caught sight of the Slytherins who were already there.

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he called as the class approached. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

For one nasty moment, Harry thought that Hagrid was going to lead them into the forest; Harry had had enough unpleasant experiences in there to last him a lifetime. However, Hagrid strolled off around the edge of the trees and five minutes later, they found themselves outside a paddock of sorts. There was nothing in there.

“Everyone gather ‘round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it— make sure yeh can see— Now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books—”

“How?” said the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

“Eh?” said Hagrid.

“How do we open our books?” Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of

Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out too; some, like Harry, had belted their book shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.

“Hasn’— hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.

“I managed to scare mine into letting me read it” Harry spoke up, lifting the heavy-duty book with one hand to show that it was opened. Hagrid’s face brightened considerably that at least one of his students was able to open their books.

“Well now, tha's certainly one way o' doin' it!” he chuckled out before addressing the rest of the class. “Yeh’ve got ter stroke ‘em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look—”

He took Hermione’s copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy sneered. “We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess?!”

“I — I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

“Oh, tremendously funny!” said Malfoy. “Really witty of you, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!”

Harry made sure to check Draco, launching him into the ground. “Keep it closed, Malfoy” he hissed. Hagrid was looking downcast and Harry wanted Hagrid’s first lesson to be a success.

“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, “so — so yeh’ve got yer books an’…an’…now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ‘em. Hang on…”

He strode away from them into the forest and out of sight.

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him—”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry growled at him.

“Careful, Potter, there isn’t a teacher around to save you no—”

“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.

Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly, orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and looked deadly. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

“Gee up, there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

In a way, Harry could see what Hagrid was seeing, once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half-bird. He started to appreciate the Hippogriffs’ gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit closer…”

No one seemed to want to. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, approached the fence cautiously.

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.” Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle weren’t listening; they were talking in an undertone and Harry had a nasty feeling they were plotting how best to disrupt the lesson. Harry gave his best over-the-shoulder glare, which had them pause, at least.

“Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ‘cause those talons hurt.”

“Right — who wants ter go first?”

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione had misgivings. The Hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings, as it seems they didn’t like being tethered like this.

“No one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look.

“I’ll do it,” said Harry.

There was an intake of breath from behind him, and Lavender whispered, “Oooh, no, Harry! Parvati, the tea leaves!”

Harry ignored them as he climbed over the paddock fence.

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then; let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray Hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped the leather collar off its neck. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding their breath while Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously towards the sight.

“Easy now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink. Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much.”

Harry’s eyes immediately began to water, but he didn’t shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye. “Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry… now bow.”

Harry didn’t feel much like exposing the back of his neck to Buckbeak, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then looked up. The Hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him, with little to no movement.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right, back away now, Harry, easy does it—” But then, to Harry’s enormous surprise, the Hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.

“Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right, yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!”

Feeling that a better reward would have been to back away, Harry moved slowly toward the Hippogriff and reached out toward it. He patted the beak several times and the Hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it.

The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were looking deeply disappointed.

“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he migh’ let yeh ride him!”

This was more than Harry had bargained for. He was used to a broomstick, but he wasn’t sure a Hippogriff would be quite the same.

“Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” said Hagrid, “an’ mind yeh don’ pull any of his feathers out, ‘coz he won’ like that…”

Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoisted himself onto its back. Buckbeak stood up. Harry wasn’t sure where or what he should hold on to; everything in front of him was covered in feathers.

“Go on, then!” roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriff’s hindquarters.

Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Harry. He had just enough time to seize the Hippogriff around the neck before he was soaring upward. Instincts seemed to take over as Harry gripped the magnificent beast. It was bumpy at first, with neither flier being used to a co-pilot, but then Harry’s eyes closed and let his breathing slow to an even pace, with his mount’s actions in perfect sync with his own.

Harry could clearly feel the wind, where the updraft was, where there was less drag, where it followed, and where it stopped. He made small movements, to adjust Buckbeak’s flight path with ease. Then, his lips pulled into a smirk and he urged Buckbeak to go faster. He made his mount go into a dive, only to pull up at the lake, with Buckbeak’s claws and hooves gently creasing the water beneath them.

“Ready, Buckbeak?” Harry asked as he urged his mount to go faster. Soon he was whooping loudly as he and Buckbeak soared through the skies. The landing wasn’t quite as smooth as it could have been, but Harry was still able to dismount without too much stumbling.

“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid as everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle cheered.

“Okay, who else wants a go?”

Emboldened by Harry’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock.

Hagrid untied the Hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Ron and Hermione practiced on the chestnut, while Harry watched. And that was where it all went wrong.

* * *

Draco, in true form, had ignored his teacher’s lessons and strolled right up to Buckbeak, insulting it all the while. Thanks to the quick thinking of Harry and Hagrid, he was saved from losing his arm, although he still hammed it up, acting as if he was dying and in need of serious medical attention.

But, Harry had other thoughts on his mind. Namely, going down to the chamber and restoring more of the Basilisk hide, as well as seeing about a meeting with someone from Gringotts to sell the carcass of the monster as well.

More pressingly in his mind, however, was the language of Dementors, Riddle’s use of that language, and his burgeoning Mage Sight. And he was headed to the one person in the castle who could help him. His extracurricular lessons with Dumbledore, lessons which centered on controlling his power, learning to over and underpower his spells. As Dumbledore had said to him before restraint was something Harry had struggled with.

“Liquorice Wands” he spoke to the gargoyle as he approached the headmaster’s office. His lesson began in five minutes and he wanted to bring up his concerns. As he climbed the winding staircase, he allowed his mind to return to his duel with Riddle, in the chamber of secrets.

_Raising Ginny’s wand he spat a word, not of the bastardized Latin Harry used, but something else. Something unnatural. Something wrong. <Lance!>. The word made reality ripple and warp as a lance of black shot towards him. _

As his mind recalled the spell the shade of Riddle cast, almost burning it into his memory, it was then drawn to the train and the moment that he heard that language again.

_It was not the sound it made that snapped Harry out of his rage, no it was the words spoken in that sound, “ <PAIN! WHY DO I FEEL PAIN!?>” Though to the others, it was a high-pitched shriek that seemed to invade their minds, Harry couldn’t say which was worse. “<FOUL MORTAL SPAWN!>” it spoke again, Harry somehow managing to not look like he heard it. The part of Harry not currently focused on driving the beast away tried and failed to figure out why it sounded... familiar. _

A cold sensation swept through him. He needed to talk to Dumbledore about this urgently. A dark part of him wondered what would happen if he cast in this language, wondered just how different the spells would be. Already his mind was thinking of the spells he knew, things like _Expelliarmus_ or _Obliviate_. What would those spells do when cast in this tongue? What would they do in Parcel? His mind started further down this path.

“You may enter, Mr. Potter” a voice called out before he knocked. Harry relaxed at the sound of his trusted Headmaster’s voice, which pulled him from his dark musing. “Good afternoon Harry, please, have a seat for a moment. I need to finish this letter.” Harry took the offered seat, reaching out to stroke Fawkes, who looked to be closing in on a burning day as he waited, listening to the oddly soothing sound of quill on parchment.

“Alas, it is now done. Now, my boy, are you ready?” he spoke as he looked up at Harry. A frown marred Dumbledore’s face as he took in Harry’s appearance; pale and a sweaty brow, but not the kind that spoke of illness. “Mr. Potter, I can see that something is troubling you. What is it?” he asked, easily having spotted the signs of Harry having been shaken by something.

“It’s about Riddle, Sir,” the younger male sighed, “and about the Dementors.” At Dumbledore’s look, he continued, “I… I recognized the language of the Dementors” and Dumbledore’s blood froze, as he immediately made the connection between the two. A connection that Harry conformed with his next sentence “An… and the reason I recognized the language was be-because Riddle cast in it during our duel last term.”

There was only silence as Harry looked both scared and relieved while Dumbledore slumped in his seat. A minute had passed before Dumbledore spoke up. “I had hoped that he hadn’t crossed that line, but it appears that he did. But, to learn that those vile creatures Dementors speak it as well is most concerning,” he said, breaking the silence and locking eyes with Harry.

“Mr. Potter, you understood the language; can you speak it?” He asked with the tone of a man who already knew the answer; he just needed to hear it for himself.

Harry was silent for a moment before closing his eyes and remembering the language “<Yes, I can>.” The softly spoken words sucked the heat from the room, causing the deepening shadows to seemingly absorb the dimming light.

A deep sigh escaped the old man’s lips. “It is as I thought, you can speak Exanimistongue. I had hoped that you would never be burned by such knowledge but, your survival of the Killing Curse seemed to have all but granted your knowledge of it.” The world may not have changed at the name of the language, but Harry felt a cold sweat on his brow.

“This is made worse by the fact that the Dementors also speak it. It would be fascinating if not for the fact that it is also horrifying.” he continued, “Do not worry, Mr. Potter. I shall help you with this burden. Now, on to hopefully lighter matters, I sense that this is not the only thing that worries you so.”

“Um, yes. Uh, during the summer, more so to the tail end of it, I noticed that sometimes the world would light up. And I read somewhere about how that was Mage Sight.” Harry said, feeling uncertain. “It… it’s also been happening at Hogwarts, and more frequently at that sir.”

“Indeed? Well then, this is a pleasant surprise. Though, my dear boy, you do not have Mage Sight, merely so much magical power running through you that your eyes enter a halfway state. Come, I shall teach you the spell for it and a spell for our control lessons.”

* * *

The Headmaster led Harry into a large room, with several human-shaped dummies, bullseye targets, and strange orbs. “The Headmaster’s practice room, where a headmaster can practice spells or train students or apprentices. Here is where we will be continuing your lessons this year, as I suspect that your power has grown considerably.” His eyes twinkled at Harry, who suddenly got the impression that his Headmaster knew about Harry’s dubiously legal practice in the summer.

“Now, the first spell you will learn is _Magus Occulus_ , the Mage Sight spell. In short, it is a spell that will allow you to see magic at a much deeper level. I shall teach it to you now, both to ward off any potential damage to your eyes and to allow you to see the amount of power you push into your spells.” A series of flicks, made in the shape of a four along with the incantation of “ _Magus Occulus_ ”, caused the headmaster’s blue eyes to become solid blue and glow with an inner light.

“Oh my… I had expected a growth in your power, but this is astounding. Indeed, it is a good thing that I am teaching you control. I dread to think of the damage you may cause by accident when you begin to learn more harmful spells.” Harry winced. Nobody liked being told that they could hurt someone by accident.

‘ _And knowing my luck, I’d be a dark lord in the making again if it happened._ ’ A more cynical side of him thought. His musing was interrupted by Dumbledore moving and conjuring more of the human-shaped dummies. He only stopped when there were twelve rows of thirty-six dummies.

“Now, onto the next spell. Watch closely now, Mr. Potter, for I am trusting you to not use this spell to harm your fellow students. Is that understood?” the aged Headmaster’s glare was intense, his eyes shining with power and skill as his gaze bore into Harry, who, ever the Gryffindor, met it with his own stare. A moment passed before the Headmaster spoke again. “Excellent. Now, watch my wand.” A sharp jerk down followed by a flick to where the middle of the line was. “ **BARAK!** ”

The room was illuminated with blueish-white power, as a rolling bolt of lightning shot from Dumbledore’s wand. Harry stood in awe of the devastation it caused; almost every dummy it hit was rubble, with several dummies around its line being in various states of disrepair, sparks danced across the ruins as the thundercrack rolled around the room. Harry counted, of the 432 dummies, around 321 of them were destroyed or broken.

This was when Harry noticed something off. ‘ _Was the room always this big?_ ’ Blinking, Harry belatedly realized that he had been knocked over. As he stood, he could feel the air, which was saturated with power and magic. “Woah...” was all he could manage, feeling in awe of his teacher’s power.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said in both amusement and pride. By no means was he a vain man, but it was nice to know he could still inspire such awe from his students. “Now my young student, it is your turn.” As he spoke, he repaired the damage he’d done with a negligent flick of his wand.

Harry’s awed look was replaced with one for fierce concentration. Lightning flowed down his arm before he cut it off; he wanted to see what he could do without Thundersong’s involvement. His eyes electrified as his wand tip light up with power. A visible line appeared in the air as Harry sharply jerked his wand down to the left, following it with a flick to where the middle of the line was.

“ **BARAK!** ” The force of the spell bucked his arm, as the room was once more filled with a blueish-white light, Harry managed to stay on his feet this time. When his vision was restored, he was disappointed but unsurprised to find out the devastation he’d caused was not equal to Dumbledore’s, only ninety-eight of the dummies were broken with fifty-three dummies damaged, but he was sure it was more than anyone else in his year was capable of.

“Impressive, Mr. Potter. I assume you now see why you must learn control?” At Harry’s nod he continued “Now, you will cast the spell again, this time, however, you must only destroy one dummy, understood?” With another nod, Harry turning to face the target’s “Now, cast.”

“ **Barak!** ” he called, the harsh movements of his wand sending a powerful bolt of lightning through Ninety-seven broken, fifty-two damaged. Harry frowned, he’d tried to pull his magic back and thought he had.

“Ah, Mr. Potter, it appears you and I have different definitions of restraint.” Dumbledore gently teased as he fixed the damage. “Now, again,” he ordered. This was repeated five times, with no improvement in each attempt. On the sixth try, Dumbledore halted Harry’s cast. “Perhaps a metaphor would help. Tell me, Harry, when you cast, what does it feel like?”

“Uh… hm” Harry stilled as he closed his eyes. Trying to remember all the times he cast a spell. He could clearly feel his magic, it felt like a storm that was just on the horizon, so maybe… his eyes snapped open, shining blue as he slashed his wand in the air, a wave of magical force erupting from the arc. He repeated the motion a few more times, each time the shockwave growing less and less powerful.

“ **Barak!** ” This time, Harry felt the magic travel through his arm and into his wand, with him now able to lessen its power. Dumbledore looked proud, while still clearly needing a lot of practice, destroying ninety-two dummies and damaging forty-eight, it’s still progress.

“Well Mr. Potter, again. You must learn to cast at the lowest available power, both to prevent accidents and to control your own strength.” He paused before locking gazes with Harry “However, Mr. Potter, I must insist on you only practice that spell in here. I’m sure you see why” at Harry’s nod Dumbledore spoke once again “now, cast.”

The lesson continued for around 40 minutes before Dumbledore called time, citing that Harry was beginning to suffer from Magical Burnout, a condition where a witch or wizard had cast too much magic too quickly and that for the past three attempts he had not lowered the numbers from eighty-five destroyed and forty-one damaged. “Practice with the magical force wave you are so fond of, it will not be as effective as using a spell, but it will get you used to casting at this level.” the Headmaster instructed the boy.

* * *

“Well, you can’t say it wasn’t an interesting first day back,” said Ron gloomily.

They were in the Gryffindor common room after dinner and tried to do the homework Professor McGonagall had given them, but all three of them kept breaking off and glancing out of the tower window. Even the prospect of researching the Mage Sight spell did not deter Hermione from her worry.

“There’s a light on in Hagrid’s window,” Harry said suddenly.

Ron looked at his watch.

“If we hurried, we could go down and see him. It’s still quite early…”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said slowly, and Harry saw her glance at him.

“I’m allowed to walk across the grounds,” he said pointedly. “Sirius Black hasn’t got past the Dementors yet, has he? And even if he did, it’s not like I’m some hapless firstie.” Hermione was forced to agree, Harry showed no signs of his earlier burnout and, perhaps more to the point, had a record of coming out on top in such situations.

So they put their things away and headed out of the portrait hole, glad to meet nobody on their way to the front doors, as they weren’t entirely sure they were supposed to be out.

The grass was still wet and looked almost black in the twilight. When they reached Hagrid’s hut, they knocked, and a voice growled, “C’min.”

Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid’s lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting them into focus.

“‘Spect it’s a record,” he said thickly, when he recognized them. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who lasted on’y a day before.”

“You haven’t been fired, Hagrid!” gasped Hermione.

“Not yet,” said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. “But’s only a matter o’ time, innit, after Malfoy…”

“How is he?” said Ron as they all sat down. “It wasn’t serious, was it?”

“Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could,” said Hagrid dully, “but he’s sayin’ it’s still agony. Covered in bandages, moanin’…”

“He’s faking it,” said Harry at once. “Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth.”

“School gov’nors have bin told, o’ course,” said Hagrid miserably. “They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left Hippogriffs fer later, one flobberworms or summat. Jus’ thought it’d make a good firs’ lesson’s an’ s’all my fault…”

“It’s all Malfoy’s fault, Hagrid!” said Hermione earnestly.

“We’re witnesses,” said Harry. “You said Hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s problem that he wasn’t listening. We’ll tell Dumbledore what really happened.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll back you up,” said Ron.

Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Ron and pulled them into a bone-breaking hug.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hagrid,” said Hermione firmly. She took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it.

“Ah, maybe she’s right,” said Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both staggered away, rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed Hermione unsteadily outside before hearing a loud splash.

“What’s he done?” said Harry nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.

“Stuck his head in the water barrel,” said Hermione, putting the tankard away. Hagrid stepped back inside, his long hair and beard sopping wet as he started wiping the water out of his eyes.

“That’s better,” he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them all. “Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an’ see me, I really—”

Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he’d only just realized he was there.

“WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?!” he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN, YOU TWO, LETTIN’ HIM GO!” Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door.

“C’mon!” Hagrid said angrily. “I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!”

* * *

**This Chapter's Grimoire**

**Magus Occulus** /Mage Sight; a spell that allows someone to see wards, invisible spells, charms, and magical traces. Based on the Nordic Spell **Visus** /Sight.

 **Visus** /Sight; a spell that allows someone to see magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, once again, please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.
> 
> and if you wish to talk to me about my works, I can be found [here](https://discord.gg/n97GeZe) and [here](https://discord.gg/kKC2tw3)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to [Ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost509/pseuds/ghost509) for making my ramblings legible. Please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.

And so it continued, Harry would attend his lessons and then work on restraining his power. Then he’d do some of his homework and work on runes till curfew. Though, he and Ron did find some peace in the lack of Malfoy around. A peace that, sadly for them, couldn’t last.

Malfoy didn’t reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Harry’s opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

What followed was a nightmare for Harry and Ron as they were forced to deal with Malfoy’s faked injury and Snape’s pandering. Ron was made to cut his daisy roots while Harry had to skin his shrivelfig. Things almost turned ugly when Malfoy started to taunt Harry about Hagrid, Harry having to clamp an iron grip on Ron’s arm before he took a swing for the blond boy.

Harry growled low in his throat when he heard Snape bullying Hermione and Neville, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and shove a Barak down his throat. His eyes flashing blue at the sound of Snape threatening to poison Trevor, Neville’s pet toad, and likely the puppyish boy’s reminder of his wizard status.

A thrill shot through him when Seamus mentioned that Sirius Black had been spotted near Hogwarts. Though he then had to endure Malfoy’s superior attitude, which caused Harry to have to choke his anger down, lest he discharges a lightning bolt. Thankfully, for Harry at least, he got to ruin Draco’s potion by superheating the flames under his cauldron, the sparks he gave off raised the temperature of Malfoy’s flames.

Harry felt a streak of vindictive pleasure when Snape’s public poisoning was subverted masterfully. Though his pleasure was short-lived when Snape punished Hermione for denying him his fun. And then things turned confusing when Hermione pulled another vanishing act, and then acted like she hadn’t. In the end, both he and Ron shrugged and went to lunch, with thoughts of the upcoming DADA lesson.

* * *

Professor Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class before unless you counted the memorable class last year when Lockhart let loose a bunch of Pixies and then couldn’t deal with them.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves didn’t look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin ”

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to their surprise, he was still smiling.

“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he said pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get into his brooms.”

Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin’s words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry. Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.

“This is a useful little spell,” he told the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.”

He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, “ _ Waddiwasi _ !” and pointed it at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves’s left nostril; the impact sending him careening away before he managed to right himself and flew away, cursing. Just like that, he was everyone’s new favorite professor.

“That was awesome sir!” Dean shouted in amazement. Professor Lupin bowed his head in a very Dumbledore-esque way.

They set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.

“Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and closed the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.” He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him.

At the doorway, he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville went scarlet. Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers.

Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a Boggart in there.”

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling door knob apprehensively.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks. I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.”

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?”

Hermione put up her hand.

“It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. “So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.”

“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

With Hermione’s eagerness showing beside him and being more than a little distracting, Harry was unsure of how to respond. But seeing the gentle smile on his teacher’s face, he decided to try for it anyway “Umm, oh wait, it’s because there are too many of us, it doesn’t know what shape to take on, right?” he said, dropping his fist into his palm at the revelation.

“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione put her hand down, somehow looking both disappointed at not answering the question and proud of him for answering the question, he’d never tell her it made her look a little constipated.

“It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.“ he chuckled, shaking his head in remembrance, getting a smattering of chuckles from the class, some of them starting to relax.

‘The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.” he explained, the class hanging off of every word he said.

“We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… _ Riddikulus _ !” he enunciated the spell clearly, each syllable hanging in the air just long enough for it to be memorized before moving onto the next one.

“ _ Riddikulus _ !” said the class together.

“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”

The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows.

“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

Neville’s lips moved, but no noise save a whimper emerged.

“I didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully, patting Neville’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. This seemed to do the trick as Neville noticeably went from “Man with a Death Sentence” to “Man waiting on his sentence”.

Neville looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then said, in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.”

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.

“Professor Snape, hmm, frightens us all really.” he joked, easing Neville’s tension even more. “Calm yourself, Neville, calm yourself,” he spoke softly, the boy relaxing a lot more under the words. His goal accomplished, he asked his next question. “Now, I believe you live with your grandmother?”

“Er yes,” said Neville nervously. “But I don’t want the Boggart to turn into her either!” he nervously exclaimed, eyeing the wardrobe like it might burst forward and eat him.

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, giving a cheery smile. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”

Neville looked startled, but said, “Well…always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress…green, normally…and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”

“And a handbag?” prompted Professor Lupin.

“A big red one,” said Neville.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”

“Yes,” said Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.

“When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape,” said Lupin. “And you will raise your wand thus and cry ‘ _ Riddikulus _ ’ and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”

There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently.

“If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…”

The room went quiet. Harry thought…What scared him most in the world? His first thought was Lord Voldemort or a Voldemort that had returned to full strength. But before he had even started to plan a possible counterattack on a Boggart-Voldemort, a horrible image came floating to the surface of his mind…

A rotting, glistening hand, slithering back beneath a black cloak…a long, rattling breath from an unseen mouth…then a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning… Harry shivered, but not in fear. It was scary, but… a flash of a face so close to his own appeared before his mind’s eye. With a low growl, he banished the thought and looked around noting that many people had their eyes shut tight.

Ron was muttering to himself, “Take its legs off.” Harry was sure he knew what that was about. Ron’s greatest fear was spiders. Harry leaned over and rapped the back of his hand against Ron’s shoulder. Ron nodded in thanks as he took a controlling breath.

“Everyone ready?” said Professor Lupin.

Harry noticed that everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

“Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, all right?” another calming shoulder pat, Neville visibly working his courage up in an attempt to not look weak.

“I’ll call the next person forward when you’re done, understand?” Neville nodded shakily. “Good man,” Professor Lupin said with a final shoulder pat, before turning to address the class.

“Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot ” They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready, even if it was shaking.

“On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One two three now!”

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.

“R r  _ Riddikulus _ !“ Neville squeaked defiantly, determined to show why he was in the house of the Lions.

There was a noise like a whip Crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.

There was a roar of laughter; the Boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another  _ Crack _ , and where he had stood was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising “ _ Riddikulus _ !” cried Parvati. A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

“Seamus!” roared Professor Lupin.

Seamus darted past Parvati.  _ Crack _ ! Where the mummy had been was a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Harry’s head stand on end “ _ Riddikulus _ !” shouted Seamus.

The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone. Crack! The banshee turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle, then  _ Crack _ !- became a rattlesnake, which slithered and writhed before  _ Crack _ ! becoming a single, bloody eyeball.

“It’s confused!” shouted Lupin. “We’re getting there! Dean!”

Dean hurried forward. Crack! The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab.

“ _ Riddikulus _ !” yelled Dean. There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.

“Excellent! Ron, you next!”

Ron leaped forward.  _ Crack _ ! Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. “Go on Ron! You got this!” Harry roared at his best friend, having nothing but complete confidence in the redhead.

And sure, enough Ron proved that he’d earned it. “ _ Riddikulus _ !” bellowed Ron, eyes flashing orange in defiance, and the spider’s legs vanished; it rolled over and over; Lavender Brown squealed and ran out of its way and it came to a halt at Harry’s feet. He raised his wand, entirely unprepared for what was to come.

_ CRACK _ ! The class looked confused, as Harry stiffened. Standing before him was himself. Or rather, a dark reflection. His doppelganger looked tall and gaunt, with eyes as red as rubies and deathly pale skin. Lightning of crimson rolled around his figure in a helix pattern as the doppelganger took on a fey-like stance, looking so very non-human.

“<hm, more victims!>” the wrong words sucked the heat from the room, blanketing them in fear and cold. Everyone held their breath, some even flashing back to the night on the train. Then, the doppelganger began to laugh. It was a horrifying sound that leeched their magic and drained their happiness. 

Then, it made a threatening move towards the class, this was a mistake. For in an instant, the Boggart had moved, so had Harry. “ **_Flipendo_ ** !” he roared, flicking his wand down, then up and ending with a swish.

A bolt of raw magical force struck it in the dead center of its forehead, letting Harry roar “ **_Riddikulus_ ** !” The Boggart was forced into the form of Harry’s cousin Dudley, dressed as a clown with the makeup all wrong. The sudden change brought about immense gales of laughter from the class as Harry calmed down, heaving a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to chance an evil version of him running around.

Hermione went next, almost not needing the charm to defend against it as the sight of Minerva McGonigal berating her for failing was funny if a little wince-inducing in Harry. “C’mon Hermione, you know you’re not gonna fail!” he called encouragingly, Hermione’s face morphing into one of determination at his words and she managed to cast. “ _ Riddikulus _ !” she cried.

With a  _ Crack _ ! McGonigal was gone. In her place was a cat that looked suspiciously like a certain cartoon that Dudely liked, chasing a brown mouse. Harry was all but certain it was said cat and mouse duo when the mouse tricked the cat into running face-first into a wall. A wall near his recent acquaintance in Daphne Greengrass.

Interestingly enough; Daphne’s biggest fear was someone who looked a lot like Malfoy, who was armed with a sheet of paper that read Marriage. Harry knew the affronted look on Malfoy’s face was one he would treasure for a long time. He nearly died, however, when Daphne’s charm bloated him up tremendously and changed the paper to say “EGO!” Malfoy looked even more affronted and half the class was in tears.

Another treasured memory would be the looks on the faces of Malfoy’s cronies as this happened, Harry was ninety percent sure they generated half of the laughter, especially when Crab and Goyal forgot to be offended and laughed at Daphne’s next act; a needle that popped Fake Malfoy’s body, causing him to rather loudly deflate.

“Forward, Neville, and finish him off!” Professor Lupin clapped as the Boggart lay on the floor, looking like a deflated balloon.  _ Crack _ ! Snape was back. This time Neville charged forward like a bull, nostrils flaring and all, looking determined. 

“Riddikulus!” he shouted, and to the shock of some of his classmates, he blasted it off of its feet from the force of the spell. They had a split second’s view of Snape in his lacy dress before Neville let out a great “Ha!” of laughter, though to Harry it almost seemed like a weaponized laugh, and the Boggart exploded, burst into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.

The Gryffindors erupted into cheers, Harry making a note to tell the twins about this, and surged towards the shy lion. Congratulating and cheering him on. As the lesson was over and people began to gather up their things, Harry approached his new DADA Professor.

“Um, Professor, can… can I ask about that spell you used on the train?” came Harry’s nervous question, he was curious as to what it was and would like another defense against them in case Thundersong fails. He winced as he felt an offended call in the back of his head.

“Of course Harry.” Professor Lupin said before he cleared his throat, going into lecture mode, “It is called the Patronus Charm, it conjures a spirit guardian to defend against Dementors, as you’ve seen, and Lethifolds, a living carnivorous shroud, the incantation is  _ Expecto Patrnum _ ,” Harry’s eyes flicked to his teacher’s wand baring hand just in time to see it draw nine like symbol in the air

When his teacher began to speak again, Harry’s eyes rose back to the warm brown of his Professor, “it is a very powerful defensive spell that comes in two forms; corporeal, a shaped guardian which often takes on the form of an animal, and incorporeal, a barrier of white energy that wards them off. This is the version I used to help you on the train.”

“Wow! Do you think I could learn it?” Harry asked eagerly

“Oh, with ease.” Professor Lupin chuckled, laughing that bit more loudly at Harry’s eager face. His next line dashed those hopes. “However, as you’ve you can more than handle yourself against them, I don’t think I should. It is a very draining spell and one that should not be taught to a third year.”

“Aw man” Harry sighed, before shrugging and saying “well, goodbye Professor, I hope you have a good day”

“And to you as well Mr. Potter.” Professor Lupin called at Harry’s retreating back.

* * *

Ronald Billius Weasley was many things; he was lazy, tactical, jealous, brave, tactless & noble. After an accidental incentive remark about Ginny during their trip to Egypt and being the originator of the ‘Looney’ moniker, he’d been doing some thinking. Something to note about Ron was that he was never intentionally mean, he just didn’t think before he acted and unlike Harry, missed being aimed at the right target more often than not.

With Hermione having disappeared and Harry having gone to do his control exercises, Ron was left with his thoughts for company, and so he wandered the halls idly. A frown marred his face as he thought of his best friends, Hermione was brilliant and Harry was powerful. He felt a brief flash of jealousy before he squashed it, they never held his shortcomings against him, so he wouldn’t hold their natural abilities against them.

But, it didn’t change the fact that he felt… lacking when stood next to them. A bitter sensation rose up within him, he was used to being the second string. Even after getting his own vault, his new robes, books, and wand felt amazing, he still felt inadequate. A shriek broke his musings. Before he’d even thought about it, he’d run to its source.

He saw two blondes, Luna and someone else, in Slytherin. He also saw Cormac McLaggen standing over them. A snarl formed on his lips as he heard the older boy say “Get lost snake, this does not concern you.”

“I’m not the one picking on a little girl half my size!” the other blonde said and Ron had to remind himself that he didn’t like Slytherins either. He bit his lip to stop snickering when he saw McLaggen’s ears glow red. Then he saw the older male’s wand raise, Ron’s eyes went wide before they narrowed.

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !” he called, blasting the other male’s wand away. “The hell do you think you’re doing McLaggen?” he growled as he got in the older boy’s face, both of them being similar in height and builds.

“What’s it look like? I’m teaching these two their place!” he growled back, going nose to nose with Ron.

“Man, Harry was right, you really are a flaming douchebag aren’t yo-” Ron grunted as he felt McLaggen’s fist hit the side of his head, jerking him to one side and causing both girls to scream. He took two more before he growled out “ _ Petrificus Totalus _ !” he mimicked the movements Hermione had made in their first year and bound the older boy.

“Ronald! Are you ok?” Luna exclaimed, running up to him. “You’re bleeding!” she gasped. With a frown, Ron wiped his mouth on his left arm and indeed saw blood staining his robes.

“I’m fine Loon- Luna. I’m fine,” he grunted, correcting himself to Luna’s wide eyes.

“Hm, well, nice to see that some members of your house are chivalrous.” the other blonde said, sounding a little stuck up.

“Astoria, please,” Luna said in a pleading tone.

“No Luna, you saw Potter the other day, how he wouldn’t let such disrespect fly. You should do something about it.” the now-named Astoria said.

“No, she’s right. And besides, I owe you an apology Luna… one several years overdue.” Luna whipped around to look at him with an unblinking stare. A stare that used to make him feel small and weak. A stare that now did not affect him. With a great sigh, he spoke “I’m sorry for treating you like rubbish when we were younger, you did nothing to deserve it or the insulting name I gave you.”

He saw Astoria narrow her gaze at him and met her stare with his own. She searched his eyes for a bit before nodding. “... you’re forgiven Ronald,” Luna said as she hugged him like she and Ginny used to. A hug he returned.

“As touching as this is, we should still get you and your knight to the hospital wing… and this oaf as well I suppose,” Astaroia said after a moment. A prefect from another house happened upon them at that moment and escorted all of them to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Ron had barely taken three steps out of the Hospital Wing when he was accosted by another blonde Slytherin. “What did you do to my sister Weasley?!” one Daphne Greengrass hissed as she grabbed him his lapels.

“Merlin Woman! Ask her, she’s right there!” Ron exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the smaller girl, who was giggling uncontrollably at the sight.

“It’s fine sis. He’s my knight in shining armor,” the younger girl said, meaning that Daphne didn’t see Ron’s awed look at her appearance.

“Hmph, well, if that’s true then I apologize Weasley. I unfairly assaulted you,” she said. Bowing her head slightly to go with the words.

Ron awkwardly weaving it away “It’s fine Greengrass, no harm done.”

Daphne nodded in thanks “You may escort us part of the way back to our common room, it wouldn’t do for a Gryf to be too close to the dungeons after all,” she said before taking his arm and walking, leaving Ron bewildered and Astoria in hysterics.

After parting ways from the Greengrass ladies, Ron met up with Harry and Hermione, both of whom laughed at his experience, even Ron joined in after a little bit of pouting. And as day fell into night and curfew snuck up on them, Ron’s mind faded to dreams of Quidditch, Metamorphmagi, and sweets. All in all, Ron felt far more confident in his standing with Hermione and Harry, even if his day was weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, once again, please leave a review containing what you liked or disliked about this.
> 
> and if you wish to talk to me about my works, I can be found [here](https://discord.gg/AszXCqtaes) and [here](https://discord.gg/kKC2tw3)


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